


Just Trust Me

by ScarlettSiren



Category: ATEEZ (Band), K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Bigotry & Prejudice, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, Strangers to Lovers, Studio Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-01-23 06:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18544180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettSiren/pseuds/ScarlettSiren
Summary: Seonghwa was previously a member of the Presidential Security Service and a former Black Beret. Now he’s working as a bodyguard in the private sector. It doesn’t carry the same kind of prestige as guarding the nation’s highest-ranking officials, but it’s all he feels he’s worthy of anymore.The first time Hongjoong sees him, he’s convinced someone that pretty is no more an actual bodyguard than Ji Changwook or Kevin Costner were. He looked more suited to being a model or an actor than someone who was paid to protect someone else. Given that, Hongjoong has his doubts about him.At least at first.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t been able to write for weeks and then this happened so I ran with it. I have a lot of wips, so I made this a short, sorta time-skippy mess so I could blow through the plot and get to the good stuff. Also I feel like I used up most of my favorite bodyguard tropes in Vouchsafe and I didn’t want them to feel too similar.
> 
> Available in Russian (translation in progress, thank you Tupoipes): [Here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8771885)

Hongjoong sighs and tips his head back along the boxy black couch of his manager’s office, blinking up at the sterile white ceiling. It’s too damn early.

“Why am I here, Eden-hyung?” He grunts, eyes falling closed as he throws his own arm over them. He was supposed to have the day off and had spent most of the night and well into the early-morning hours composing. When he got Eden’s call at eight a.m., he had half a mind to tell him to fuck off and try again after noon. But he’d insisted it was important, so here he was, praying to be swallowed up by that stiff leather unless someone brings him some caffeine.

“You’ve been steadily receiving hate mail since your… announcement a few months back.” Eden says, too-delicate. “It gets worse every time another news outlet runs it. Every time some trash rag picks up on some old interview and rehashes the content to make it seem like foreshadowing. Some of them have been… graphic.”

“We still live in a conservative society.” Hongjoong grumbles tiredly. “I knew when I came out publicly that there would be backlash. But there’s a lot of love on social media, too, buried under the loud, hateful minority.”

He says it like it’s the only thing keeping him from doubting his decision. Some days, it is.

“That’s not the point.” Eden pushes back. “You’ve received a concerning number of death threats. Some of these are… they appear to be pretty viable. You can’t just skate by hiding behind me or the other managers anymore. You need protection.”

“Mm, somehow it feels like I’ve made the big-time now. I get a security detail? So bougie.” Hongjoong bites sardonically.

Eden rolls his eyes, crosses the office and opens the door. Hongjoong sits up as someone else enters the room. He’s dressed sharply; a black suit tailored exceptionally against his tall frame, with a black turtleneck in lieu of a white dress shirt, appropriate given the weather. His hair is jet back, swept away from his face in a way that looks both styled and effortless. His expression is impassive but his face is  _ stunning _ ; Hongjoong thinks he would look right at home at a red carpet event, standing with models and actors and top-tier idols.

“This is Park Seonghwa; I’ve had the company hire him on as your new bodyguard.” Eden explains.

“He doesn’t look like a bodyguard.” Hongjoong says to Eden like as though the man can’t hear him, looking him up and down.

“What do I look like?” Seonghwa asks, his tone even.

“Let’s be real here; you look like a model.” Hongjoong bites incredulously. “You look like an actor  _ playing _ a bodyguard in some k-drama, or something. Not the real thing.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help the face I was born with, sir.” He replies, and Hongjoong raises an eyebrow as he continues, “But I would ask that you don’t discount my ability because of it.”

Hongjoong scoffs, giving Eden a look that says plenty, that speaks his doubts more than words.

“He used to guard the president, a year or so back.” Eden assures.

“The  _ president _ ? Didn’t the president get  _ stabbed _ ?”

“It was my day off.” Seonghwa murmurs, no humor in his tone and his gaze suddenly far away.

Hongjoong immediately realizes that he is not kidding.

It’s not as though he has a choice, so he accepts it. Better just to go along than fight it kicking and screaming to no avail.

Hongjoong just wants to work. He wants to write, produce, compose,  _ perform _ . He can’t do that when people are threatening him just for existing. Not unless someone has his back.

He supposes Seonghwa is meant to be that someone.

***

A few weeks in, Hongjoong starts to think that Seonghwa is a bit… boring.

He doesn’t talk much, and never unless he’s spoken to first or has something important to say with regard to security. Hongjoong often finds himself able to forget he’s even there.

And it isn’t as though he’s there  _ all the time _ . Hongjoong can spend time at his studio alone, has his evenings at home by himself… Seonghwa has taken up residence in an apartment on the same floor, sure, but it  _ feels _ like he’s not there.

He’s learned a bit about him, but only from Eden. He’s twenty-nine, making him eight years Hongjoong’s senior. He joined the military right out of school and worked his way up on his skill. Ended up at the president’s side after a long, arduous training process and a ton of schooling; he has at least one degree, speaks several languages. And he really  _ was _ off on the day the president was stabbed; he was attending his parents’ funeral after they died in a house fire. Hongjoong could imagine why he was so quiet and kept to himself; it seemed as though so much joy had been sucked out of his life.

Seonghwa  _ does  _ have to be there, however, for travel, for interviews, for schedules, for fan meetings and concerts—those are on hold right now until things die down, though—and, of course, when Hongjoong goes out to do  _ basically anything _ .

That’s how Hongjoong ends up perusing the shops in Hongdae with a shadow looming behind him, not remotely inconspicuous and probably drawing more attention to him. Hongjoong has on a too-large jacket, a face mask and a bucket hat, but the fringe of his signature mullet is still visible, so maybe he’s more obvious than he thinks. He’s pretty sure that Seonghwa, sharply-dressed with his stiff demeanor and a damn Bluetooth in his ear, sticks out like a sore thumb. He always trails behind him a few paces, his eyes on the surrounding areas more than him, at least as far as Hongjoong notices.

He’s digging through the earrings at one of the vendors—he always gets his here, it’s his favorite shop for them—when he sees someone darting toward him rather quickly with a hand inside their open jacket. Before he can even react, Seonghwa steps between them, a firm but gentle hand landing on the young man’s chest to halt him.

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow, glancing down at the guy’s hand. He stammers and fumbles to pull out whatever he’d been fishing for… in this case, his wallet. He splays his fingers out to show he isn’t holding anything suspicious.

Seonghwa glances back at Hongjoong, who nods, and then he steps aside, motioning toward the idol with his chin.

The guy gives a grateful half-bow and steps a little closer. He gushes to Hongjoong about how him coming out gave him the courage to come out as well, how he loved his music before but that he wanted to support him even more after… he’s clearly nervous; talking in a rush, but he’s obviously earnest. He fishes some paper out of his wallet, probably an old receipt, and mentions how he hasn’t been able to make it to one of his fansigns because he’s unlucky and can’t afford more than one or two albums per comeback.

Hongjoong expresses regret for him but as he pats the pockets of his coat, he knows he does not have a pen of any kind. It’s not something he tends to carry around with him.

Seonghwa slides a black marker-pen from his front pocket and holds it out for him, giving him the faintest of smiles. Hongjoong is momentarily dazed by it, but manages to blurt out a thank-you and take it, signing for the fan. They take a selfie together, too, Hongjoong even pulling down his face mask to make his signature toothy-duckface expression and as he goes, Seonghwa gently asks that he not post it on social media for a few hours, which he promises to do.

Hongjoong hands back the marker, which Seonghwa pockets. “Sure you’ve never guarded an idol before? You came prepared and everything.”

“I just know what to expect.” Seonghwa tells him, sounding amused. “You should also know what to expect, though we haven’t really discussed it. You seem to really enjoy connecting with your fans, which is fine. But if you ever need space, if you’re uncomfortable, or if you don’t feel like interacting, just let me know. You don’t have to say anything, just give me a look. I’ll get the message, and play the bad guy so you won't have to look rude.”

“Oh, so you’re a mind-reader now?” Hongjoong teases.

“It’s one of my many secret talents.” Seonghwa quips back with a smirk.

“Holy shit was that a  _ joke _ ?” Hongjoong fake-balks. “I didn’t think you were even capable of those!”

“Only on Tuesdays.” Seonghwa replies, winking.

“Wow.” Hongjoong puts his hands on his hips. “I’m having to rethink my entire opinion of you, now.”

“Sorry if I caused you an existential crisis.” Seonghwa only sounds a little sorry. “I’ve been working with politicians for my entire career… and the only idols I’ve ever met seemed much more uptight than you are. I didn’t want to appear unprofessional.”

“Unprof—listen, I want you to be  _ very  _ unprofessional.  _ So  _ unprofessional.” Hongjoong says, gesturing widely, like he’s laying out some ingenious plan. “We can, like, play hooky and slip my managers together. Go get ice cream and shit, so they can’t be judgey and tell me I’m ruining my diet.”

“No guarantees on that kind of thing since they’re the ones signing my checks.” Seonghwa replies in a dubious tone, but when Hongjoong pouts, he amends, “At least the hooky. You can have as much ice cream as you want as far as I’m concerned.”

“Yes! We should do that, right now.” Hongjoong says, clapping once. He pays for the earrings he’d picked out and stuffs the bag into one of his large pockets before they head out.

Ten minutes later, Hongjoong is humming cheerfully as he walks the streets with an ice cream cone in-hand. He hadn’t managed to convince Seonghwa to indulge in one himself, but, baby steps.

“So… you used to guard the president, right? That’s gotta be pretty awesome. Bet you’re bored as hell around  _ me _ , huh?” He asks in between bites.

“You’ve clearly never been to a cabinet meeting.” Seonghwa replies wryly. “No, you’re hardly boring. Most of the time, on these kinds of jobs, nothing really happens. We’re there to be a buffer, and for that one percent of times when something  _ does  _ go wrong.”

“Still, seems like a downgrade. Why go into the private sector?”

“I couldn’t go back after what happened. After the president was stabbed.” Seonghwa murmurs, eyes on the floor. “Knowing I wasn’t there… even if it wasn’t directly my fault, it felt to me as though it was.”

“Right. So you move to the private sector and get stuck with me, huh?” Hongjoong teases.

“You’re not so bad.” Seonghwa offers with a grin.

Hongjoong lets himself smile back for a lingering moment before it falls. “And what? You really have no hang-ups about guarding a guy who’s getting nastygrams because he couldn’t stand being in the closet anymore and admitted on VLive that he’s gay?”

Seonghwa’s expression doesn’t change. “That would be hypocritical, sir.”

“That would —what? ” Hongjoong blinks at him. “How so?”

“I can’t say that I have had many relationships… but the ones I have had have all been with men.” Seonghwa answers, easy as anything.

“I… oh. Um. I didn’t…” Hongjoong flounders. “I don’t… really know what to say to that. Other than, um. Thank you, for, you know. Trusting me, with that. I know it’s sometimes not easy to say.”

“It’s easy enough to say to you.” Seonghwa replies, his voice soft.

Hongjoong begins to think that maybe Seonghwa isn’t so boring after all.

***

It’s been a month and a half, and Hongjoong realizes that Seonghwa isn’t boring, he’s just  _ disciplined _ . In front of Eden and the other staff, he is the epitome of professionalism. He often stands silently off to one side of the room or at the door for meetings, cordially greeting everyone as they arrive but not offering anything more with regard to conversation unless he’s engaged first.

When it’s just the two of them, Seonghwa seems a little more at ease. They become comfortable with each other little by little; conversation comes easy when it’s just the two of them, and Hongjoong appreciates the company and the added comfort in the wake of all the nasty shit that’s flown his way lately.

Eden even steps back on managing his time, realizing that Seonghwa can just do it for him. If he has to be everywhere with Hongjoong, he is forced to hold Hongjoong accountable for his schedules. Eden delights in the free time he gets to spend working on his own music… he might be Hongjoong’s manager but he was a producer first, and he’s glad to get back to it when he can.

It’s not a perfect process, though, and there are times when things don’t always go to plan. There’s one morning when Hongjoong knows he doesn’t have to be at the KQ Entertainment building until nearly noon, so he pops in his AirPods and blares some hits from his favorite Western artists while he repaints his pinkie nails. They’ve gotten chipped over the weeks he’s left them neglected, and there’s a bit of new growth coming in that needs color anyway.

He’s jamming out, completely gone to the world. When Seonghwa shoulders his front door open and bursts in suddenly, breaking the chain lock he keeps on at night for extra security, Hongjoong lets out an undignified squawk and actually falls off the couch. Seonghwa knows the security code for the digital lock on his door, but that doesn’t help him get in if he has the chain on.

He grumbles painfully and pulls his AirPods from his ears, picking up the spilled bottle of polish while Seonghwa helps him up.

“What the hell was that?” Hongjoong gripes, frowning at the streak of red polish staining his jeans. That’s not going to come out.

“You weren’t answering the door or your texts and it’s getting late.” Seonghwa explains, looking only slightly regretful. 

“Oh. I didn’t realize the time. I’m sorry. I’m almost finished.”

Seonghwa regards his nails, noticing only the pinkies are painted. “Our ideas of ‘almost finished’ probably differ. I’ll let the office know we’re running late.”

“What? No, I only paint the pinkies, they just need a top coat.” Hongjoong says dismissively, putting the cap back on the crimson polish. Seonghwa pockets his phone with a dubious expression.

That’s how Hongjoong ends up explaining the Polished Man campaign to Seonghwa while he applies his top coat and gently blows on it to speed along the drying process. Seonghwa listens with genuine interest, and when they’re dry, hands him a paper towel to wipe the pool of polish off his jeans.

“Sorry about the pants.” Seonghwa tells him, frowning.

“It’s fine, I’ll figure something out for them. Let me just change into clean ones.” Hongjoong shrugs it off, heading for his bedroom.

***

The next time Seonghwa sees the jeans, they’ve been painted up the entire top half of the leg with red scrolling filigree, lyrics of one of Hongjoong’s songs superimposed on top in three-dimensional white paint shadowed in black at the edges. Hongjoong explains he did it all by hand, and that he enjoys altering his own clothes when he has the time.

After he posts a photo wearing them on his Instagram, Represent contacts him for a potential collaboration, and Hongjoong is over the moon about it.

“Guess I kind of owe it to you.” Hongjoong tells Seonghwa after they leave an in-person meeting with Represent a week later.

“How’s that?” Seonghwa asks as they climb into the car, Hongjoong taking the backseat.

“If you hadn’t scared me shitless and made me ruin my jeans with nail polish, I probably wouldn’t have tried such a bold design.” Hongjoong answers, chuckling.

“Well then, you’re welcome.” Seonghwa replies amiably, eyeing him in the rearview mirror as he starts the car. “Should I expect royalties in my next paycheck?”

Hongjoong barks a laugh. “In your dreams.”

When news of the collab hits social media, love and hate both surge anew. Hongjoong tries to focus on the good comments… the ones that say they’re glad he’s following his passion of designing, the ones claiming they’ll buy one of everything, the ones that joke they hope he covers the entire collection with rainbows—it might not be a joke, actually, but he considers adding one or two for the next one. It’s a lot at once, and when he sees Seonghwa a day later, he knows from the look in his eyes that he’s been sifting through the worst of the hate mail that came directly to his fan mail address at KQ Entertainment.

“S’bad, huh?”

Seonghwa presses his lips together, like he’s considering the merits of lying. He never does. “So far they haven’t materialized into anything physically harmful, at least. We should keep your outings to a minimum this week, though, just in case.”

Hongjoong almost does. He  _ almost  _ bucks over, lets his shoulders slump, admits defeat. And then he just gets  _ angry _ .

“No.” He spits, recalcitrant and furious all in one. “No, you know what? Fuck that. And fuck all those people. If they wanna come at me they can say that shit to my face. I’m not going to live under a fucking rock because I like dick. I’m going out. I wanna go out.”

The way he looks at Seonghwa, then, it’s not a demand, but a question.  _ Can we? _ After a long, patient look, Seonghwa nods.

“Fuck yeah. You won’t even have to worry about watching my back if someone tries anything because I’ll kick their ass first.” Hongjoong grunts, and it’s equal parts funny and endearing, but Seonghwa doesn’t laugh. He just grins, melancholy, empathetic in a way that aches in Hongjoong’s chest.

***

The two of them end Hongdae because it’s Hongjoong’s comfort place. He feels welcome and at home there. It’s nice to see all the dance troupes playing around with each other, all the skinship. Even if it’s just fan service, it’s nice to hear delighted squealing instead of jeers. It’s nice to see the rainbow shirts and the glittery signs and people randomly calling out, “gay rights!” when someone hugs or pirouettes. It might be a little too optimistic, but when he sees so many people who are this accepting, this indifferent… it gives him hope that the rest of the country might catch up one day.

Hongjoong indulges in some greasy pizza. He listens to one of the singers who he thinks is particularly talented, and leaves them a KQ business card. He watches from a distance for a little while as one of the more popular groups, comprised of all men in incredibly short shorts, dance suggestively around a wide array of volunteers from eager to unwitting.

It’s going great. Until the moment that it isn’t. Someone recognizes him. It’s an international fan, a foreigner. They are the backbone of his support system on social media: people from more progressive countries (like ones where he could actually get  _ married _ , if he wanted to, for starters) have been his biggest defenders on Twitter and a large contributor to his digital sales. He isn’t one to ever look a gift horse in the mouth. But this fan is a bit  _ overly _ excited and ends up alerting just about the whole block to his presence. Soon there’s a bit of a crowd around him and he looks to Seonghwa with what he is sure is a panicked expression.

Seonghwa shoulders his way to his side, wraps an arm around him and makes them a path out, sternly telling everyone to move aside as he does. Most of them part without much fuss. Many of the people still in their way are only there because they hadn’t heard or seen him. Driving in Hongdae this late in the evening is a nightmare so he had parked as close to the outskirts as possible, but now it’s proving a hindrance as they have to go quite a distance to get out from under the harsh attentions of the crowds.

Finally, Seonghwa manages to break line of sight by cutting across through a side-street and lose most of the people who were trailing behind with their phone cameras out. Hongjoong peels himself away from Seonghwa just to take a breath, glancing around to make sure they’re gone. Seonghwa takes a few steps toward the main road, just to check on the traffic and the flow of people. He has his back turned for less than thirty seconds when a group of young men passes by and recognizes Hongjoong.

“Hey, aren’t you one of those sissy idols?” The one Hongjoong surmises is the ringleader pipes up, causing the others to laugh and jeer. They all have black face-masks on, decorated with safety pins and metal loops, so he assumes the anonymity is giving them all this boldness.

A few of them make crude gestures and one or two even spit a slur at him. Then the first guy steps forward, cocking his head. “Bet you know how to have a good time, though, huh?”

He reaches out—Hongjoong isn’t sure what he plans to do, maybe pat his face or grab his chin—he never finds out, because suddenly Seonghwa is grabbing the guy’s wrist and the back of his neck, slamming him into the wall of the building they’re standing next to. The others jump back in surprise as the guy yelps, startled.

“I want you to think very carefully about your life choices.” Seonghwa grits out, twisting the guy’s arm at an angle that doesn’t look pleasant. He wails, squirming under his grip.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” The punk whines, and Seonghwa wrenches him off the wall and flings him at his friends. He stumbles and they all stagger as they try to catch him, try to keep him from falling on his face.

“Go home and reconsider those life choices of yours.” Seonghwa spits, straightening his suit and tossing his chin toward the guy’s arm. “Next time, I break it.”

They all just sputter apologies and nearly trip over themselves turning tail.

Hongjoong is sure his expression is stuck somewhere between stunned and impressed. When Seonghwa regards him, he appears concerned, looking him over as though the guy had managed to actually touch him. Hongjoong just shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand.

For the first time, he thinks he really  _ does _ need a bodyguard.

***

Once they get to the car, there’s a lot of sitting in traffic, but not nearly as much as there could have been. They eventually make it out onto the main road, which means it won’t be too long of a ride back to his place.

Hongjoong sits in the passenger’s seat and manically refreshes Twitter, searching his name. There are already videos up. Mostly people gleefully announcing how they saw him in Hongdae that night. Some people mention how the people crowding him are the worst kinds of fans, that they aren’t  _ real _ fans, even going so far as to beg them to give him space. That’s a novel concept. There are even some thirst tweets for Seonghwa—which, admittedly, is fair—and there is a whole sub-tweet thread starting a fandom for him (as a joke, probably, but he wouldn’t be surprised if they were serious).

As he refreshes, he notices some people are calling him rude. People are saying he doesn’t appreciate his fans, claiming he doesn’t actually care about them because he didn’t take the time to interact. He was out in public, after all, so he should have expected it. He lets out a distressed little noise, refreshing more frequently to see if anything new pops up.

When they stop at a red light, Seonghwa snatches the phone out of his hand and tosses it into the backseat. It thumps against the leather, bouncing once before settling.

Hongjoong gapes at him like a fish, aghast.

“You can’t obsess over your image like this. Stop and take a breath.” Seonghwa tells him, stern.

Hongjoong just looks between him and his discarded phone in the backseat for a long moment before he finally comes to his senses, shaking his head. He settles back into his seat, letting out a slow breath.

“No, you’re right, you’re right. I should… yeah. Breathe.”

He spends the rest of the drive doing just that, trying to regulate the ragged and trembling form his breathing has taken. He does not allow himself to look up, and pretends not to notice the way Seonghwa glances over to check on him every minute on the dot.

When they get back to his little apartment building, he doesn’t feel any safer. He just feels… drained. Hollow. Like a husk. As if all the joy and energy has been sucked out of him. He shivers, flicking the lights on.

“You can have this back now, but… I would suggest that you stay off of Twitter. Just for tonight.” Seonghwa’s tone is gentle as he hands back Hongjoong’s phone. He takes it with trembling fingers and a hollow  _ thanks _ .

Seonghwa stands there for a moment in the doorway, like he’s waiting for Hongjoong to settle before he leaves. He won’t, though. He’s almost pacing, taking indecisive, aborted steps toward the kitchen, then the bedroom, before finally moving toward the living room.

“Will you just, um… would you stay with me, until I calm down?”

“Of course.” Seonghwa assures, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

There’s a long moment of silence before Hongjoong lets out a loud huff throws himself down onto the couch, looking up at Seonghwa guiltily.

“It was stupid to go out so soon after a big press blow-up like that. It’s okay, you can say it.” Hongjoong intones bitterly. “I put undue stress on you and put myself in danger and all because I’m too fucking  _ proud _ .”

Hongjoong expects to be scolded. He deserves it.

“You have to live your life.” Seonghwa says instead, his voice soft and low and more soothing than chiding. “You’re  _ allowed  _ to live your life. Fame and money, those things don’t give others permission to control every aspect of your existence. It doesn’t strip you of your right to privacy or dignity. You’re allowed to live. Don’t let people like that make you think any differently.”

Hongjoong just stares at him for what feels like a brief eternity, until he’s distracted by a chill running up his own spine. 

“Shit, I’m fucking cold, I never turned the heat back on when we got in—” Hongjoong makes to stand, but Seonghwa crosses in front of him and his hand is on his shoulder, keeping him on the couch. He slumps back down against the cushions obediently.

Seonghwa lets him go to unbutton his suit jacket, then slides it off and rests it on Hongjoong’s shoulders before he goes to find the heater controls. Hongjoong watches him go, clutching the lapels around his arms. It’s warm; he’s been wearing it all day…it smells faintly of cologne and something that it just utterly  _ Seonghwa _ , like leather and pine.

Hongjoong hears the heater grind on, and then Seonghwa returns, taking a seat on the couch next to him, close enough that Hongjoong can feel the heat radiating off of him. It’s comforting and terrifying both. When Seonghwa lays a palm gently against his back, he nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Give it a moment, but it should take the chill out of the room.” Seonghwa tells him, and Hongjoong nods. “The weather is supposed to take an upturn soon, too. Spring might finally be upon us.”

They feel like empty words, merely filling space. Hongjoong wonders if Seonghwa is just trying to distract him. It seems like a kind effort, even if it isn’t really working.

“If you want to talk about it…” Seonghwa starts, giving him a meaningful look, “Sometimes it helps. I’m no therapist, but I have a lot of training in psychology, so—”

“You know, going the ‘I’m your bodyguard but I can also be your friend’ route would have probably had better success, if you were wanting to get me to open up.” Hongjoong snipes, raising an eyebrow at him expectantly.

“I’m not looking to… trick you into trying to make yourself feel better. I’m just offering, if you feel like talking it out.” Seonghwa replies, putting his hands up in a show of good faith. “Your managers may sign my checks but my job is your safety and wellbeing. You are my charge. I only want to help, however I am able.”

Hongjoong doesn’t respond… not right away. When he does, he changes the subject.

“Even when it’s just us, you always speak so formally.”

Seonghwa notices, but he doesn’t press it. He will take whatever he is given. If Hongjoong wants a distraction, then he will give him one.

“I’ll tell you a secret.” Seonghwa says conspiratorially. “I’m from Jinju. My Satoori accent is hellish. Incredibly improper. The first time I met someone from Seoul, I thought… that was how I wanted to speak. It was proper and compelling. Respectful. So I worked at it. And it’s a constant battle. I spoke in Satoori for almost twenty years without a care in the world, so… it’s something I’m always conscious of.”

“I cannot… even  _ picture  _ you talking casually.” Hongjoong balks, disbelieving. “Like, 404 error, scenario not found. I can’t even imagine it.”

“Then I’m doing all right.” Seonghwa says with a laugh.

“No, that’s not fair! I wanna hear it!” Hongjoong whines. “Just like, one sentence! Please!”

“It’s not a parlor trick.” Seonghwa chides, brushing him off. “Besides, the way you speak is much nicer.”

“Me?”

“Yes. When I first met you, I thought your dialect was very elegant.” Seonghwa tells him, as though it isn’t the lovely compliment that it is.

Hongjoong huffs in embarrassment and leans back into the couch a little more, letting some of his weight fall against Seonghwa’s side. He keeps the jacket tight around his arm, but then Seonghwa’s arm is moving up to wrap around his shoulder, effectively holding it in place. The man absently plays with his hair, just the faintest, casual touch, and it is a greater comfort than Hongjoong could have even thought to ask for.

They sit like that for a long while, until the chill in the air in the apartment is replaced with pleasant warmth and Hongjoong can hardly remember why his evening had gone to hell in the first place. There is a long stretch of comfortable silence before he breaks it.

“Seonghwa-ssi?” The man just hums to indicate he’s listening to Hongjoong. “Can I call you hyung?”

Seonghwa gives the barest of shrugs. “If you’d like.”

“Well I know you won’t, but I’m fine with you dropping the formalities, too. Okay?”

“Of course, sir.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “I expected nothing less, but somehow I’m still disappointed.”

“The human mind is funny that way.” Seonghwa quips, amused.

“What’s the problem?” Hongjoong goads, “Afraid you’ll actually kind of like me and then feel bad when someone inevitably manages to hurt me?”

“No.” Seonghwa answers with no hesitation, “I won’t ever let anyone hurt you.”

It’s his job. That’s his  _ job _ . It shouldn’t render Hongjoong speechless, the way he says it. It shouldn’t, but it does.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we are going for 3 chapters because I want to put a neat little bow on the plot here but this chapter got lengthy for decidedly…… non-plotty reasons, so. (Smut. It was smut. Enjoy).

Hongjoong thinks he and Seonghwa might be slowly becoming friends.

At least, that is what he tells himself when he is actually pleased to see Seonghwa, the man whose presence he was convinced, in the beginning, would be an absolute hindrance to his life. He enjoys going out with him… which is really just him living his life while Seonghwa tags along at a reasonable distance and makes sure no one tries to kill him. He  _ could _ slip out to the store unattended,  _ probably _ , but he always stops by Seonghwa’s place two doors down and asks if he’ll come. Seonghwa used to wind down around ten in the evening unless Hongjoong had late schedules, but now he answers his door in his suit even if it’s midnight.

Hongjoong starts to feel a little bad about it, so he makes a habit of sending him texts to let him know when he’s heading to bed or if he plans to stay up late working on some compositions and doesn’t intend to go out. Seonghwa doesn’t call him out on it, just wishes him a good night or a productive evening.

Seonghwa should feel like a third wheel to Hongjoong, probably, but most of the time, he doesn’t. Hongjoong meets up with Mingi, another—newer—rapper with the company, just to get boba and talk about the stuff he’s working on for his first album. Seonghwa mostly trails behind them, keeping himself at a distance that isn’t bothersome, and after a while, Hongjoong forgets he’s even there.

When it’s larger groups… like when Eden invites him along to get barbeque with him and the other managers, KQ’s CEO comes along and insists Seonghwa eat with them instead of lurking in the corner. The bodyguard seems a little uncomfortable with the entire arrangement… mostly because after speaking with him for a whopping three minutes, the CEO’s attention is called away by another of the managers and Seonghwa is left sitting amongst half a dozen people all talking shop about things with which he is unfamiliar.

Hongjoong is on his other side, so he tries to engage with him a bit… but it isn’t the same as when it’s just the two of them. Seonghwa is closed off… reserved, even, and Eden ends up pulling him into a conversation about a new mixing program which monopolizes his attention. Seonghwa doesn’t appear particularly offended, or even upset, but it is hard to see him sitting there silently, his expression blank and contemplative while everyone around him is laughing and smiling and drinking.

Hongjoong decides he wants to make it up to him.

It may not even be apparent to Seonghwa that’s what Hongjoong is trying to do when he claims he wants to go for ice cream and insists Seonghwa sits with him, then orders him a coffee so he doesn’t look so out of place. He sips at it, his eyes on the environment more than on Hongjoong, same as always, but it feels like a start.

“You know, this is nice. Just the two of us.” Hongjoong starts, leading. “We should do this more often.”

“I just go where you go.” Seonghwa reminds him. “So it’s up to whatever you would like to do.”

“No, I don’t mean me living my life and you shadowing it.” Hongjoong explains. “I mean, you and I, should do stuff together. Consciously.”

Seonghwa blinks at him. “Like… friends.”

“I’ve been thinking about it.” Hongjoong replies around a spoonful of ice cream. “We’re kind of stuck with each other, you know? But I enjoy your company… when it’s just us. And it’s not like I can really meet new people—like, dating.”

“And why is that?” Seonghwa asks in a somewhat flat tone, like he knows where this is going.

“What if I  _ want  _ to go out on a date or something? You gonna tag along? Watch me make moves on someone? See me flirt all shamelessly, hoping desperately to get laid? It could get awkward.” Hongjoong says a bit too aloofly, waving his spoon. 

Oh, yes. Seonghwa is definitely onto him now, based on the look he gives him. “Is this going where I think it’s going?”

“I’m just saying, it sounds like  _ you  _ have to be the one to take me out at this point.”

Seonghwa looks at him incredulously. “This… you’re literally, entirely getting this from The Bodyguard. This whole bit. It’s not even subtle.”

Hongjoong doesn’t seem all that perturbed at being called out. “Is that a yes?”

“You are using a Hollywood movie as the basis for this whole thing, so, really, I’m not sure if I can trust your angle, here.” Seonghwa counters.

“Come on, I’m good company, right?” Hongjoong waggles his eyebrows.

“It’s a lovely sentiment, but you aren’t Whitney Houston.” Seonghwa retorts. “You can’t just expect me to take you out dancing while a depressing cowboy song plays on some old jukebox and romance blossoms.”

Hongjoong grimaces, but his eyes are twinkling in amusement. “Maybe I’m slightly too Gen Z for that reference but I have no idea what a jukebox is.”

Seonghwa breathes out a curse that isn’t in Korean or English. It sounds almost… Russian. Hongjoong blinks at him.

“Hey. Eden-hyung mentioned once that you speak like eight languages. S’that true?”

“Only six, thank you. But you’re getting off-topic.”

“That is… really, unspeakably hot, by the way.” Hongjoong replies too-casually.

Seonghwa lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Oh, okay, we’re back on this.”

“We never got off.” Hongjoong quips, smirking deviously. “ _ But _ —”

“Do  _ not _ finish that sentence.” Seonghwa snaps, giving him a hard stare that has Hongjoong clamping his mouth shut.

A moment of silence stretches between the two of them before Seonghwa finally speaks again.

“Sir,” The formal address makes Hongjoong cringe, but Seonghwa doesn’t seem to notice, “If this is your way of asking for more space, or for us to arrange for some kind of…  _ system _ where you can date in peace while I can still ensure your security needs are met—”

“Did you even… hear  _ anything _ I just said?” Hongjoong asks, looking around like he thinks he’s being punked. “Did I… was I just, talking to the ether? I’m confused. Where did I lose you?”

“I get it. You want to date, I’m an inconvenient third wheel in that scenario, fair.” Seonghwa replies. “I’m sure we can work something out. I could arrange to inspect a location before you went, and we’d have to implement background checks, just to ensure you aren’t meeting anyone who’s trying to harm you.”

Hongjoong just blinks at him. He realizes, belatedly, that Seonghwa thinks he was flirting just to get him to panic and loosen the reins a little. He doesn’t know if he’s being too blatant and it’s coming across as disingenuous or if Seonghwa is a little oblivious. It might be a bit of both.

“Um… hyung, that’s not. Uh.” Hongjoong doesn’t even know where to begin, and feels himself flounder.

“You don’t have to fake flirt with me for shock value to get your point across. Message received.” Seonghwa tells him, gesturing with both hands. “We’ll work something out.”

Hongjoong just grumbles. He has no idea how his smooth attempt at flirting had been taken  _ so wrong _ , but he doesn’t have it in him to argue.

***

Hongjoong does not, in fact, try to set up any dates with strangers.

He does, however, decide he wants to go out to a nice restaurant, or for a stroll in the park, or check out a busking event, and, of course, Seonghwa must come along.

To his credit, Seonghwa asks Hongjoong again a few times about having anyone else along whose company he might enjoy a bit more than his bodyguard’s. Hongjoong just shrugs it off and claims it isn’t worth the effort. Seonghwa frowns at that, likely feeling guilty, and Hongjoong thinks he might not ever get it.

Things are fine, though. For a time.

Hongjoong lets himself forget that Seonghwa is even his bodyguard. Forgets, unconsciously, that he even needs one. 

That is, until Eden sets him up for an interview on Idol Radio, and everything goes to hell.

Fans flank either side of the sidewalk leading up to the building, and that’s typical enough… but there’s a lot of tension in the air. He wonders if maybe some non-fans had made their presence known and warped the mood.

Eden steps out first, then Seonghwa with Hongjoong. The fans go absolutely wild, screaming his name, their proclamations of love, and cell phones and cameras snap from every angle. He waves and smiles, pointing to a sign he thinks is particularly cute and throwing up a finger heart for the person holding it. She squeals and jumps up and down, and Hongjoong feels his mood lighten.

He doesn’t know exactly what happens next. All he hears is a protest as some fans get shoved, and some guy shouts something hateful, something about people like him ruining the industry, and then Seonghwa is in front of him in a blur of movement, looking down at him with his eyes wide in something like horror.

There’s a splash, like liquid hitting the pavement, and several people scream.

_ “Oh my god, was that coffee?” _

_ “It wasn’t water!” _

_ “Holy shit was that  _ acid?!” 

And then pandemonium erupts.

Seonghwa grabs him and pulls him faster toward the door of the studio while staff forces the crowd back. Eden starts shouting at the staff inside, alerting them to what happened, and they move into action.

“Are you all right? Did any get on you?” Seonghwa asks quickly, speaking in such a rush that it would almost appear panicked were it not for the sternness in his tone. He checks Hongjoong over, mostly his face and arms, wiping a palm down the front of his jacket to be sure there wasn’t anything on it.

“I’m fine, I don’t think any got on me—Seonghwa-hyung, your jacket!” Hongjoong yelps, noticing the acid is already chewing though his suit at the shoulder.

Seonghwa strips it off, tossing it on the floor. A few specks have already eaten through to his crisp white shirt, biting into his skin, and he regards it with a sneer of irritation.

“Water, give me your water!” Hongjoong shrieks at Eden, snatching his water bottle right out of his hands and uncapping it, pouring it onto the mottled fabric to rinse away the acid. Everyone else is just standing there in stunned silence.

“It’s fine now, thank you, sir.” Seonghwa murmurs, wrapping a hand around his where it’s holding the bottle to stop him from dumping its entire contents on him. The whole right side of his shirt is soaked down the side, back and arm, as well as a bit of the front. There are black spots in the fabric where the acid had gotten to it, haloing small holes, but they aren’t getting any bigger.

“It’s not… it’s not  _ fine _ , any higher and that could have been your face!” Hongjoong says, high-strung and maybe a little manic.

“I suppose I can count my blessings, then, sir, that you aren’t any taller.” Seonghwa replies, offering him a half-smile. He doesn’t know if he wants to strangle him or kiss him.

Now that’s a thought.

Behind him, chaos erupts in the studio. Eden is calling someone, one of the radio staff seems to be on the phone with the police and several other staff begin skittering around, setting up a private room for him to wait in while the dust settles. He obviously can’t do the interview, not in this state.

“They’re still working on dispersing the crowds right now so it might be some time before they can get a paramedic out.” One of the staff members tells them after she settles both Hongjoong and Seonghwa into that private office. She holds out a little white box with a red label on the front; a first aid kit. “We only have this in the meantime.”

“That’s actually perfect, thank you.” Seonghwa says graciously, taking it with a grateful bow.

Hongjoong actually balks at him. “You need a hospital, those burns—”

“Are minor.” Seonghwa assures, unbuttoning his shirt and peeling it off.

Hongjoong chokes on air. He means to look away, but he can’t peel his eyes off the other. Seonghwa is cut, shoulders just as broad as his suits make them seem, but his waist is small and trim and he really  _ does _ have the physique of an A-list actor.

Except, of course, for the myriad of scars littering his torso.

There are several that Hongjoong feels he can hazard a guess at their origin… there’s something that’s definitely a stab wound in his right side, a small circular starburst at his left shoulder that probably came from a bullet. There are many more faint pinkish lines that might be cuts from blades of some kind, and the skin of his left arm from the shoulder to just above his elbow is mottled and reddish with discoloration; likely a severe burn long since healed.

“Holy shit.” It slips out before Hongjoong can swallow it down, and he knows for certain he must be gaping like a fish.

“Kind of throws a wrench in your ‘pretty enough to be a model’ theory, hm?” Seonghwa teases. He doesn’t shrink away, doesn’t try to hide his scars… but it’s clear from his pinched expression that he isn’t entirely comfortable with them being on display like this.

“Wh-what? No, I just… um.” Hongjoong flounders, panicking. “I don’t remember hearing about… that many people attacking the president, is all!”

“I didn’t just guard the president.” Seonghwa reminds him, his tone cryptic. “And the public isn’t always informed of every neutralized threat.”

“Right. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Hongjoong murmurs.

“Probably for the best, sir.” Seonghwa agrees, leaning over to grab the medical kit.

Hongjoong sees the back of his shoulder, sees the little spots of red and yellow flesh where the acid had eaten away at the skin, and gasps, snatching it away from him. “Oh my god. No, let me, you can’t possibly reach that anyway.”

Seonghwa frowns, but sits up, acquiescing with a nod.

There’s a long pause while Hongjoong stares at the first aid kit, a little lost. Finally, he clears his throat. “I don’t, um. I’m not sure what I should… use first? I’ve never—”

“Alcohol to sterilize, water to cleanse, ointment to heal, bandage to protect.” Seonghwa explains, and Hongjoong gets to work.

He’s quiet in his concentration, working carefully and trying his best not to hurt Seonghwa. It doesn’t seem to matter; he doesn’t flinch at the alcohol, so Hongjoong imagines nothing he does will get a reaction out of him.

“You can use the gauze to cover it and tape it down.” Seonghwa explains once the ointment is on. Hongjoong does just that, pressing the tape carefully into his skin. He has to use a few pieces of gauze because of the spread-out placement of the wounds, but by the time he’s finished, Eden comes in to check on them.

“Hey… you two okay?”

Seonghwa nods. “My injuries are incredibly minor. I won’t need a paramedic.”

“All right. The police think they got the guy… some fans followed him and alerted authorities. It looks like he has some old acid burns on his hands, so they’re reasonably certain it’s him.” Eden explains.

Hongjoong sighs in relief. “Are the fans okay? He didn’t hurt them, did they?”

“Not as far as I’ve seen or heard, no.” Eden assures, pointing to Seonghwa. “Let me get you something to wear, the police are going to come take your statements and then we’re getting you both out of here.”

With that, he’s gone, and Hongjoong lets out a long, low breath.

“They caught him.” It only sounds a little relieved, too many other emotions warring within him for him to truly feel at ease.

“That is a relief.” Seonghwa replies. “I wouldn’t know for sure that I could keep you safe knowing that someone capable of doing that to you was still at large.”

“You did, though. Keep me safe. You protected me.” Hongjoong murmurs softly. He curls his fingers around Seonghwa’s bicep and forearm, resting his nose against the curve of his shoulder, centimeters shy of the gauze covering his injuries. “Thank you.”

“Just doing my job, sir.” Seonghwa answers softly, but the way he lays his left hand over one of his—Hongjoong thinks, that isn’t in his job description, but he is no less grateful for it.

***

Eden eventually returns with a hoodie—merch from Hongjoong’s last tour—and Seonghwa pulls it on just before the police arrive. They give their statements… Hongjoong feels like he isn’t helpful at all; he can’t remember anything about the attacker, just the moment when he shouted, and then Seonghwa was the only thing in his field of vision.

After all’s said and done, they leave through a hidden back exit and climb into one of the KQ Entertainment vans. The fans have largely dispersed, mostly having been forced to, and Hongjoong can’t imagine the mess on social media. For once, he doesn’t feel compelled to check. When his hand twitches toward his phone, he grabs for the sleeve of Seonghwa’s borrowed hoodie instead, and the bodyguard lays a hand over his again, just as he’d done before.

Seonghwa takes him home from the KQ Entertainment building in his own car. Hongjoong climbs into the passenger’s seat… he feels more comfortable being closer to Seonghwa, and everything is still so raw. The radio is off and neither of them speaks; Hongjoong just focuses on getting his thoughts organized. The panic might be gone, but a dangerous haze of confusion and emptiness is settling in its wake. He wonders if this is what shock feels like.

He startles when Seonghwa parks. He hadn’t even noticed they’d arrived. Seonghwa gives him a searching look, but Hongjoong offers a half-smile in reassurance and just climbs out of the car. He’s not sure it worked.

Hongjoong opens the lobby door with his code, then shoulders into the stairwell and shoves his hands in his pockets. He’s only on the second floor, so he usually takes the stairs even though his building has an elevator. He’s taken them a hundred times since moving there… so it speaks to his state of mind that he doesn’t notice that maintenance has finally replaced the torn-up rubber guard on the bottom step. His foot catches on it, no longer worn down to the concrete at the center, and it pitches him off balance.

His weight lands poorly on that foot but he doesn’t get his hands out of his pockets in time to catch himself; it’s only Seonghwa diving forward and grabbing him by the waist that prevents him from faceplanting. He curses in pain and frustration, and it echoes in the stairwell.

“Easy! Hey, take it easy.” Seonghwa tells him, soothing and chiding all at once.

Hongjoong peels away from him, makes it about one step before he discovers he’s pulled something and putting weight on his ankle is a bad idea. He crumples, sitting on the third stair with a hiss of pain and another curse.

Seonghwa looks at him somewhat piteously, shaking his head. “You’ve got to stay out of your own head. The world just keeps spinning, and it’s going to trip you up while you aren’t paying it any mind.”

Hongjoong makes a pathetic sound. “I feel like I can’t even exist at all without the world trying to kill me.”

“Well, that’s what you pay me to prevent.” Seonghwa answers so matter-of-factly that it doesn’t even seem like a joke, though it’s clearly meant to be one by the sly look on his face. He lets out a soft sigh, leans down and scoops Hongjoong up, bridal-style, before traversing the stairs.

“We have an elevator, hyung.” He protests, though he holds fast to Seonghwa all the same.

“You weigh virtually nothing and it’s two flights. I’ll manage.”

Sure enough, Seonghwa manages just fine. Even manages to hold him with one arm so he can punch the code in for Hongjoong’s apartment, shoulders open the door, sets him down on the couch and quips at him to stay put while he gets some ice from the kitchen. He places it over his ankle and shoves one of the couch pillows under it.

“Keep that elevated and iced. Twenty minutes on, ninety minutes off.” Seonghwa tells him like it’s an order.

“I’m… not gonna remember that.” Hongjoong grumbles in admission, tipping his head back with a sigh. “I’m probably just gonna try to nap, or something.”

“You can’t leave that on too long, it can damage your nerves.” Seonghwa protests. “I’ll stay until it needs to come off. Find rest if you can.”

“ _ Find rest if you _ —why the fuck do you still talk like that when it’s just us, hyung?” Hongjoong gripes. “And you’re not standing there for twenty minutes like a freaking statue. If you’re gonna stay, sit down, like a goddamn human being. With any luck I’ll pass out in a few minutes.”

Seonghwa does as he’s told, sitting at the end of the couch by Hongjoong’s raised-up foot. “Fine. Try to get some sleep.”

“There, that was a normal sentence.” Hongjoong replies, satisfied.

He doesn’t know how long it takes him, but soon he’s out cold. When he wakes up some hours later, the ice is off of his ankle and a blanket has been draped over him, but Seonghwa is gone.

***

Hongjoong holes up in his apartment for almost a week.

He ices his ankle as recommended, and by the next evening, it seems fine. Eden gives him space, at first, checking in only via phone, but after the third day, he just gets concerned. He’s leaving to go abroad to film an M/V for his own comeback, so he can’t actually come check on him. Hongjoong has mostly been spending an unhealthy amount of time between his shower and his bed. He’s been in a shitty headspace for composing, and everything sounds wrong and awful when he plays it back so he gives up after too long.

He hazards a glimpse at social media and it is, in fact, a disaster zone. Company reps have released a statement to assure the public that he’s fine (and that his bodyguard’s injuries were minor and treated on-site) but the fans are absolutely rabid. He’s pretty sure the group of fans who call themselves the “Hongjoong Protection Squad” are no longer just being cutesy about it. There’s talk of making themselves into human buffers for him at airports and public events, and he really isn’t comfortable with it, as sweet as the sentiment is. He wouldn’t forgive himself if a fan got hurt because of him.

Looking at social media puts him in a miserable mood, until he sees one post that gets his attention. He searches ‘Hongjoong bodyguard’ and the results are not disappointing. The tag is filled with people praising Seonghwa’s quick action, offering their thank-yous, even trying to learn more about him. There’s a whole thread dedicated to him that talks about what happened and even mentions his past as a Black Beret and protecting the president. There are some photos of him from back then, from as far back as his training—he wonders how the hell people manage to find this stuff, how much free time they must have—but it’s actually nice to see Seonghwa being appreciated.

There’s one post that likens the whole thing to a K-drama, and to be fair, the poster calls themselves out on being “that person” but claims the two of them would be a cute leading couple and they’d watch it. It makes him laugh more than it offends him, and he’s probably not processing his trauma in a healthy way if he’s not even a little miffed that someone is making a life-threatening incident out to be some cheesy drama plot but you know, whatever.

Seonghwa is entirely out of his league, anyway. He’s pretty sure the guy looks at him like he’s a kid, given how he completely glossed over his previous attempts at flirting. Well, maybe not a kid,  but he doesn’t think Seonghwa sees him remotely romantically at  _ all _ .

God, that would be a concept.

Hongjoong’s mind ends up wandering to forbidden places and he finds soon enough that his hands are wandering, too. He hasn’t seen Seonghwa in days; he hasn’t been out, so there wasn’t a need, but he finds he misses his company. What he wouldn’t give for it to be Seonghwa touching him, all that stoic concentration on him while he works him over, opens him up.

Hongjoong’s hands are tiny, and he curses his short fingers. They can never quite reach all the places he wants them to, but he’s too riled up to go digging around for one of his toys. He ends up just bringing himself off in the tight circle of his own hand, and if the moan he lets loose sounds like a bitten-off version of his bodyguard’s name, well, he’s the only one around to hear it.

Seonghwa, he learns, has been working with the police as they build their case against his attacker, apparently, which is why he hasn’t been around much. Hongjoong assumes Eden must have called him, though, because on the fourth day, he shows up with take-out and demands that Hongjoong eat something other than whatever instant ramyun he’s been scrounging up from his cupboards over the last few days.

Seonghwa’s company makes him feel human again. All the tension balling up and tangling in his chest seems to loosen, and by the next day, he’s ready to go out again. They just go to a cafe around the corner—baby steps—but he feels better for it.

The next night, though, it’s storming like crazy, so he texts Seonghwa to let him know he’s definitely not planning to go out. It rains for hours, and after a flash of lightning is followed too-closely by a booming roll of thunder, the power in the whole building goes out. When Hongjoong walks out into the hall, he sees Seonghwa had the same idea, standing just outside his own door with a flashlight in hand.

“I’ll go check the breaker, but it’s probably the main line outside.” Seonghwa says, padding over to the stairwell in his indoor slippers, gray sleep pants and a black turtleneck. He looks… relaxed, but somehow still entirely professional. Hongjoong’s never seen him in anything other than a suit, so it’s a bit surreal.

A few minutes later he returns and the lights are still very much out.

“Looks like it hit the lines outside; resetting the breaker did nothing.”

Hongjoong lets out a long, low breath, pouting. “I’m totally unprepared. I don’t even have candles. Or snacks. I’m starved, I definitely haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

“It’s one a.m.” Seonghwa deadpans.

Hongjoong shrugs guiltily. “I got distracted composing.”

Seonghwa shakes his head, but he’s grinning in amusement as he dips back into his own apartment.

Minutes later, he and Hongjoong are setting up in the rapper’s apartment. Seonghwa has several storm lanterns he puts around to light up the space and drops a myriad of snacks onto the coffee table, much to Hongjoong’s delight.

He grabs a large bag of caramel corn puffs and throws himself onto the couch, Seonghwa settling at the other end of it but lacking any snacks.

“These don’t seem like your kind of snacks, hyung. All so sweet.” Hongjoong notes as he opens a bag and digs in. “You don’t strike me as a caramel corn kind of guy.”

“Who said they were for me?”

Hongjoong makes a face at him. “You’re supposed to be my bodyguard, you know… not my babysitter.”

Seonghwa grins. “You would be surprised how often the lines between those occupations blur.”

Hongjoong scoffs, offended, and throws a corn puff at him. Seonghwa snatches it out of the air and flicks it back with expert precision, getting Hongjoong right on the nose. He sputters and lunges, as if he means to tackle him. 

“You jerk!”

Hongjoong comes flying at him, but Seonghwa snatches both his wrists and pivots, easily turning the tables and pinning Hongjoong to the couch underneath him. He raises an eyebrow, smirking.

“You didn’t really expect this to work out in your favor, did you?”

Hongjoong huffs, and he gets a really stupid idea. He slides his legs up, hooking them over Seonghwa’s hips. He crosses his ankles behind him and tugs, pulling him down until their hips are flush. The look he gives Seonghwa is challenging, if not a little coy, mouth dropped open and eyebrows raised expectantly.

Seonghwa doesn’t give him any reaction.

Hongjoong’s wildly hammering heart stutters nervously in his chest. He feels equal parts offended and emboldened. He cranes his head up and plants a gentle kiss against Seonghwa’s lips, then flicks his tongue teasingly over the curve of his cupid’s bow.

There’s still no reaction, other than the nearly imperceptible twitch at the corners of Seonghwa’s eyes.

“You’re really going to keep playing the part of the stone-faced bodyguard, here, huh?” Hongjoong grumbles. He sounds equal parts irritated and crestfallen.

“You’re just doing it to get a rise out of me.” Seonghwa replies softly, but it’s confident,  _ too  _ confident, and Hongjoong tips his head up.

“Am I?”

Seonghwa’s expression falters. He regards him for a long moment, taking in the way his pupils are blown so wide, the way his throat quivers, the way his breath hitches. He releases Hongjoong’s wrist, placing his own palm flat against the other’s chest, and his eyes widen just a little when he feels the intense hammering of his heart.

“No… you’re not.” Seonghwa murmurs. It’s a revelation. He looks away, distress furrowing his brow and a sort of frantic look in his eyes.

Hongjoong’s free hand moves up, grabbing Seonghwa’s chin and tilting him back to face him, pulling him in until their lips are millimeters apart. Seonghwa holds fast, though, hand still braced against Hongjoong’s chest.

“We shouldn’t.” He says, soft and strained. “You…”

_ You are my charge. _

_ You are just lonely. _

_ You don’t really want this. _

A trembling breath. “I’m…”

_ I’m on your company’s payroll. _

_ I’m nearly ten years your senior. _

_ I’m supposed to be protecting you. _

So many of the excuses Seonghwa could contrive flit through Hongjoong’s mind. None of them make him feel any differently.

“I don’t care.” He says with a shake of his head. His hand moves to card into Seonghwa’s hair, urging him closer once more. “I don’t care.”

Seonghwa breaks. He leans down and kisses him.

It isn’t at all the fiery, desperate kiss that Hongjoong expects.

It is slow, and sweet, and  _ god _ it smolders through every inch of him, every nerve, rushing up his spine like lava. He arches up a little, letting out a hum of a moan that gets tangled up between them. He feels Seonghwa rut against him, just a single roll of his hips, and feels as though his skin has been set ablaze.

Seonghwa sets a hand on his hip, slides his palm down the length of his thigh and presses him closer, licking into his mouth. Hongjoong melts, uses his grip on Seonghwa’s hair to tilt his head, pull him closer,  _ anything _ . He cants his hips up again and whines when Seonghwa actually  _ growls _ into his mouth and ruts back harder.

Hongjoong is burning up, and not just metaphorically. He nudges Seonghwa until he sits back, legs splayed open in an invitation which Hongjoong gladly accepts. He slides up onto his knees, settling on Seonghwa’s lap and kissing him once before pulling back long enough to yank his own hoodie off. Seonghwa sees him struggling, as it’s a little oversized, and helps him tug it off over his head before tossing the offending garment aside. He’s still got a t-shirt on, but he can’t resist grabbing Seonghwa’s face and leaning in to initiate another kiss, each one filthier than the last.

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been kissing… maybe a few minutes or a few eternities, but suddenly there’s a loud whine as all the electronic devices in his apartment grind back on, the space instantly filled with what feels like blinding light.

Hongjoong yelps and throws himself toward the other side of the couch, away from Seonghwa. When he realizes it was just the power coming back on, he laughs and cards a hand through his hair, willing his heart to calm and chastising himself internally for being so jumpy.

“Well… I guess the power’s back.” He says for a nervous lack of anything else  _ to _ say, trying not to look at the way Seonghwa’s usually perfectly-styled hair is now a bit of a wreck, his lips bitten-red.

“I guess it is.” Seonghwa murmurs. His expression is closed off, and it’s clear there are a thousand thoughts roiling around in his head now that they’ve been forced to pause, been given a chance to think this through. Hongjoong doesn’t want him to think it through… there’s too much of a chance that he’ll try to talk  _ sense _ into him, and he  _ really _ can’t have that.

“It’s good, ‘cause I kinda prefer the lights on.” Hongjoong replies before Seonghwa can continue, crawling across the couch and into the other’s lap.

Seonghwa regards him for a moment, resting a hand on his hip and looking for all the world like he’s trying to win a silent war against himself. 

“Take me to bed, hyung?” Hongjoong asks, his voice low and sweet and not at all coy. There’s a sort of vulnerability he lets slip through that he wouldn’t, he thinks, for anyone else. In truth, he doesn’t know what he would do if Seonghwa refused him, where they would even go from here. Would he quit? Would he pretend it never happened, treat Hongjoong with cold indifference? The thought terrifies him. He presses the next word into his lips with a kiss, a soft and desperate, “Please.”

Whatever thinking Seonghwa has been doing seems to be done. He doesn’t hesitate, just hums in affirmation and stands, taking Hongjoong with him with one arm cradled under his ass. He seems no more hindered for it, though, and in no time, Hongjoong finds he’s being gently deposited near the end of his own bed.

He watches with rapt attention as Seonghwa stands back and peels off his turtleneck. He has the absolute gall to quickly fold it and lay it at the opposite corner of the bed like that’s a completely normal thing to do.

“Oh god, you’re like, a compulsive neat-freak, aren’t you?” Hongjoong gripes.

“There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to live in filth and chaos.” Seonghwa bristles.

“There is a  _ massive  _ leap between not wanting to live in a pigsty and actually  _ folding _ your  _ clothes _ when I’m about to let you fuck my brains out.” Hongjoong retorts. Seonghwa raises an eyebrow at him.

“Mm, a little ambitious, aren’t we?” He croons, leaning down and undoing the laces at the waist of Hongjoong’s sweats with one hand before grabbing them from either side and yanking them down and off without further preamble. The boxers go with them, right onto the floor. Fuck, that’s hot.

“You don’t seem the type to do anything halfway.” Hongjoong says, partly between cocky and breathless.

“Least of all, you.” Seonghwa agrees with a smirk, sliding out of his own pajama pants and—holy shit, Hongjoong might actually kill him— _ folds them _ and lays them atop his shirt. His thumbs dip into his boxer-briefs and Hongjoong may actually scream.

“I swear to  _ fuck _ if you fold those—”

Seonghwa raises a brow at him, snapping the waistband as he lets go of them. “Well fine, then. Maybe you need to lose some of that tension of yours, first.”

Hongjoong huffs, makes to argue, but Seonghwa just knee-walks onto the bed and lifts him, maneuvering him up onto the pillows. He’s about to offer protest when Seonghwa pulls up his shirt, just enough that it’s tangled on his arms above his head, and uses the fabric to hold them there. He dips down to run his tongue over one of his nipples and Hongjoong jolts, letting out a soft noise of surprise.

Seonghwa spends his time working his mouth over every inch of him, learning him, finding the spots that make him mewl softly and shy away or buck up and whine. Eventually, he lets the go of the shirt—and by extension, his arms—to move lower. He takes extra care as he kisses and nips over the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs, flicking his tongue along the curve where thigh meets groin. Hongjoong lets out a long, low moan and gives a full-body shiver. His cock his hard and red and leaking and  _ god _ it aches. He just wants Seonghwa to touch him,  _ really _ touch him.

His sluggish brain catches up with his current state and he frees his arms from the t-shirt with a bit of a struggle, tossing it off the bed in a huff of annoyance. He fumbles blindly in the nightstand drawer for the lube… he knows it’s in there, but hell if he’s going to move from this spot to get it. Not while Seonghwa is moving upward, his tongue dipping into his navel like a goddamn tease.

Finally, he gets his fingers around the bottle of lube, still three-quarters of the way full, and tosses it down onto the bed next to his own hip. It’s cinnamon-flavored  _ and _ it’s the warming kind, because he’s a man of refined tastes. Seonghwa regards it before picking it up and snapping open the cap, drizzling a fair amount onto his first too fingers. Hongjoong’s actually a little shocked he doesn’t drag it out more; he seems like enjoys torturing him.

“This scent is a little familiar…” Seonghwa drawls, kissing at the jut of Hongjoong’s hip bone as he presses the pads of his fingers against his rim, just enough that the lube starts warming up. “How often have you imagined this? How many times did you touch yourself and wish that you weren’t alone?”

“Nnh—!” Hongjoong’s answer is stolen out of his throat when Seonghwa pushes one of his fingers inside, just to the first knuckle.

Seonghwa pauses, watches Hongjoong’s face as he gingerly presses his finger in further, deeper than he could ever go himself. Their gazes lock  for a long moment, but the intensity of it forces his eyes to flutter closed, his head thrown back a little at the sensation.

Hongjoong is gay. Hongjoong has also been with men, physically. But Hongjoong is an idol, and has not ever felt he had much freedom with regard to dating, especially given his sexuality.

Much of—no,  _ all of _ —Hongjoong’s past trysts have been ones of convenience. Quick, quiet, virtually meaningless. He has given head, he has received it, he has gotten off with other men twelve ways from Sunday but he has never, in fact, been fucked.

Hongjoong indulges in his  _ own _ pleasures, of course. He has worked himself open on his own fingers, worked his way up to taking toys of modest sizes. The first guy who ever tried to finger him gave up because he was “too tight” and it seemed like such an inconvenience to lay on his partners after that.

But Seonghwa…

Seonghwa watches the way his body takes just one of his fingers, gauges just how tense he is, how nervous, and slows, petting gently down his side with his other hand.

“Is this what you want?”

Hongjoong tenses further. “We don’t… we don’t have to, we can just—”

“I asked if this is what you  _ want _ .” Seonghwa repeats, giving him a meaningful look.

Hongjoong whimpers, a needy little thing, and nods emphatically. “Please, please hyung.”

Seonghwa nods back in acknowledgement, shifting the way he’s sitting so he’s more comfortable, like he’s preparing to take his time with it. He moves Hongjoong’s legs up higher, resting his right ankle on his shoulder before grabbing for the lube with his free hand.

“You’re so tight.” He murmurs as he tries to work just the one finger in and out of him, drizzling more lube as he goes. He doesn’t say it in the way Hongjoong expects; he doesn’t say it like he’s delighting in how it will feel for  _ him _ . He just says it like he might state anything else. It’s a little disarming.

Hongjoong knows. He fucking  _ knows _ . He’s built small; it’s just how he is.

“I know I told you I’m good at reading nonverbal cues,” Seonghwa continues, his voice still low and quiet, “But I’d like for you to use your words, too. Especially if it hurts.”

“Doesn’t hurt.” Hongjoong grunts, frowning despite himself. “Feels good, it does, it’s just… my body is… difficult.”

“That’s all right.” Seonghwa assures, turning his head to kiss at his ankle. “We’ve got all night.”

It’s nearly two in the morning, but he doesn’t have any schedules. It’s more time than Hongjoong thinks he’s ever had for something like this.

Seonghwa takes his time. He spends most of it not even doing anything spectacularly fancy; he just works his one finger in and out of him until he thinks he can manage to add a second. He hesitates as he does so, because Hongjoong’s body fights him for every centimeter, but at Hongjoong’s insistence that is  _ really _ doesn’t hurt, he slides the second alongside the first.

It feels like the biggest hurdle might be behind them. Seonghwa can scissor his fingers, now, and does so, coaxing Hongjoong’s body to relax for him. His dick had long since checked out, but when Seonghwa brings both fingers together and hooks them upward while pulling them out, he brushes up against his prostate and Hongjoong jolts. It pulls an unbidden groan out of him, his cock twitching in interest.

Seonghwa watches his reaction with dark eyes. Whereas his expression had settled on a sort of gentle concentration before, now his gaze is smoldering and curious, working his fingers against him in the same way once more.

Hongjoong’s no stranger to his prostate, but none of his toys feel quite as intense as those long, slender fingers working against it with such purpose and precision. It isn’t long before he’s fully hard again, leaking against his own stomach as he writhes under the intense attention.

“Oh… o-oh, hyung—” Hongjoong keens, his legs kicking out at the sheets a little. He’d probably be embarrassed at his reactions if he had the presence of mind to notice how needy he was acting. Right now, though, he couldn’t care less, so long as Seonghwa doesn’t stop. 

“Has no one ever done this for you?” Seonghwa husks against his shin, pressing a sweet kiss into the skin. When Hongjoong whines and shakes his head, Seonghwa grunts in disapproval. “What an absolute travesty.  _ Listen _ to you.”

Hongjoong feels warmth swirling up in his gut at the words, and when Seonghwa’s fingers thrust against his prostate again, an orgasm unexpectedly washes over him. He shakes and whines as he comes untouched, making a mess of his own abdomen. Seonghwa’s hand doesn’t stop moving, but he does straighten his fingers, avoiding his prostate so he isn’t overwhelming him with sensation.

“There you are… you relaxed so much for me.” He coos, dipping down to lick up a stripe of come from his stomach.

Hongjoong whimpers softly, still shocked and shaking, and when Seonghwa presses a third finger in alongside the first two without much resistance, he groans in relief. It feels good… he feels  _ full _ , feels like his body finally isn’t fighting him.

“Want you… Seonghwa-hyung, please…” Hongjoong begs, voice strained and breathless.

“I’ve got you. Just a little more, okay?” Seonghwa soothes, gently working his fingers in and out of him as he leans up, reaching into the open nightstand drawer to grab a condom.

Hongjoong whimpers, trying for an affirmative sound, and watches through hazy eyes as Seonghwa tears open the foil with his teeth and drops it back onto the bed. He finally pulls his fingers free, so gentle and slow, wiping them on his boxer-briefs before he yanks them off. He tosses them in the general area of the end of the bed and Hongjoong feels a little victorious.

He thinks Seonghwa is finally going to fuck him, but instead, he slides down and takes Hongjoong’s cock into his mouth. Hongjoong yelps at the suddenness of it, shuddering as Seonghwa suckles at him, more heat and tongue than pressure. He’s no longer oversensitive… it just feels like the smoldering remains of his arousal are being stoked again, coaxed back to life. He  _ wants _ , god how he wants… 

“Please,” Hongjoong tries again after too long, and something in his tone is convincing enough for Seonghwa to pull off with a lewd suck and reach for the condom.

He slides it on, slicks himself up with lube… he uses so much that the smell of cinnamon is a little overwhelming for a moment. Hongjoong thinks maybe he should invest in some normal fucking lube if this is going to be a regular occurrence, or else Fireball whiskey and seasonal air fresheners might end up being eternally ruined for him.

The first press of Seonghwa’s cock against his rim has him keening and grabbing at the other’s hips, trying to pull him closer. Seonghwa still takes his time, nudging in little by little until he’s fully seated. Once he’s settled, he pauses, and it isn’t until a thumb softly grazes his bottom lip that he realizes he’s all but heaving for air.

“All right?” Seonghwa asks, his expression full of concern and fondness, despite the lust simmering there just below the surface. Hongjoong can still see it, see the way his eyes go dark when he ruts his hips up hard with an encouraging nod.

“Move.”

Seonghwa does.

Both his hands curve over Hongjoong’s hips, pulling him in on every thrust. It’s a steady, rolling cadence at first, but as Hongjoong’s moans pitch higher, his pace quickens, becoming just a little more desperate.

Seonghwa is looking at him like he’s seeing the face of god, like all the world’s secrets, the meaning of life itself, are haloed all around him, woven into his very skin. He looks at him like he is the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen… and Hongjoong doesn’t think that anyone has ever looked at him that way, not in his entire life. It tears a moan out of him, unbidden, and Seonghwa turns to press a kiss into the side of his knee before he leans down, their noses touching.

“God, look at you.” He whispers, still rutting hips at a rough pace that has Hongjoong’s eyelids fluttering.

He wraps his arms around Seonghwa’s neck, hooking his ankles around at the small of his back as well, as though even a centimeter between them is too much. Seonghwa slides one arm behind him and lifts before sitting back, pulling Hongjoong up into his lap. His hips don’t stop moving, and Hongjoong’s own roll down to meet him on every thrust.

“Ah, fuck, hyung, I’m close…” He whines, leaning in to kiss Seonghwa filthily, licking into his mouth until Seonghwa returns the favor, sucking on his tongue teasingly.

“Gonna come again for me?” It’s not cocky at all—just wrecked and raw and  _ god _ Hongjoong wants to see this man utterly  _ ruined _ .

“Yeah…” Hongjoong husks, carding his hands up into Seonghwa’s hair. It’s already a wreck, but he wants to make even more of a mess out of him. “Yeah, m’so close, fuck… feel so good, hyung…”

Seonghwa lets out a shuddering breath, and Hongjoong thinks he must be close, too. But then he wraps a hand around his cock and Hongjoong loses all sense of reason. He cries out, the sensations all too much at once and yet somehow not enough. Seonghwa picks up his pace, his hips matching it, and he leans in against his ear.

“Come for me, Hongjoong.”

He isn’t sure if it’s what he says or  _ how _ he says it, or perhaps it’s just that it’s the first time Seonghwa has even said his  _ name _ , but Hongjoong comes hard with a broken shout, trembling in the aftershocks of it. Seonghwa isn’t far behind him—he lets out a loud groan against Hongjoong’s collarbone and comes into the condom, hips not ceasing their movement until Hongjoong is whining in oversensitivity.

Everything goes a little hazy after that. He knows Seonghwa gets up at some point, probably cleans them both up, but he’s delirious in the afterglow. When Seonghwa climbs back into bed with him, he coils himself around him, tucking his face right against his neck.

Hongjoong is tired all the way down to his bones. He hasn’t slept particularly well since the attack, but wrapped up in Seonghwa’s arms and worn out so thoroughly, sleep drags him under within moments.

***

Hongjoong is surrounded by people.

Nameless, faceless, featureless horrors; simply a crowd of human-shaped beings. They move in closer, crushing him. Some of them have features, now… a terrifying, toothy smile splits the face of the one right in front of him. Green bile like acid pours from a lipless maw, slurs and hate echoing around him. The crush of it is overwhelming and he cannot breathe. There’s weight on his chest, too much, so much that it feels as though his ribs may break. The faceless horrors reach out at him, snatching at whatever they can reach. Pulling, tugging, tearing. He can’t breathe. He can’t  _ breathe _ .

Hongjoong wakes with a start, bolting up in bed and gasping for air. There’s still weight on his chest, and he claws it off only to realize it’s an arm draped over him. The figure tangled up in the sheets next to him sits up, concerned.

“Hey, easy, easy, it’s okay.” Seonghwa quells, rubbing his shoulders soothingly. He pushes the hair out of his eyes, smoothing his thumbs over his temples and looking at him as though his gaze can pull Hongjoong right out of his own thoughts. “Nightmare?”

Hongjoong nods, his breaths finally beginning to even out. He sighs, collapsing back toward the pillows, but Seonghwa just sits up a little and pulls him to lie against his chest.

“That’s not unexpected. Do you want to talk about it?” Seonghwa asks, so so gentle.

Hongjoong shakes his head. “Just wanna forget about it.”

Seonghwa presses his lips together, fingertips playing gently along his shoulders, in his hair. “All right. Whatever it was, you’re fine now.”

“Am I?” Hongjoong asks, bitter and strung-out. “I keep receiving death threats. Someone tried to throw acid on me. What happens when someone actually succeeds?”

“I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you and I meant it.” Seonghwa tells him softly. “How does that one song of yours go? ‘Leave your tired heart in my arms and just trust me’? You can trust me.”

“You’ve… listened to my music.” It’s almost a question.

“Of course I have.”

“What do you mean ‘of course’ you have?” Hongjoong retorts. “Why would that be a given?”

“To be fair, half the people in this country under thirty listen to your music.” Seonghwa reasons.

“But…” Hongjoong leads.

“But,” Seonghwa continues, having successfully been called out, “I did initially only listen to find potential clues with regard to all that hate mail you were receiving. A lot of it referenced your lyrics.”

“Initially.”

“Yes. I actually like your music quite a lot.” Seonghwa admits. “Now I just listen to listen.”

“With what free time?” Hongjoong asks with a bitter laugh. “I feel as though our lives are so tangled up nowadays that you hardly have one of your own.”

“Mm, it’s not so bad.” Seonghwa murmurs against his temple, pressing a soft kiss to the high arc of his cheekbone. “It’s not as though you’re terrible company.”

Hongjoong isn’t sure exactly where that ranks as far as a compliment, but he’s prepared to accept it as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I ever stop referencing my favorite line in ‘From’ in Ateez fics? All signs point to no.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first two chapters were from Hongjoong’s perspective but I thought ending the fic on Seonghwa’s was better narratively. Hope it doesn’t give you whiplash; I don’t usually do this sort of thing.

Seonghwa wakes again with the late morning sun, and he finds himself thinking that this might be the most idiotic thing he’s ever done.

He  _ doesn’t  _ get involved with clients. Of course, being involved with his previous clients would have been a concern of national security, but honestly, he doesn’t feel any better about his current situation.

Except, that’s a lie. He’s never met anyone like Hongjoong. There’s a reason he’s completely and entirely smitten.

That doesn’t mean it’s  _ not  _ an incredibly  _ fucking stupid idea. _

Seonghwa’s entire job revolves around keeping Hongjoong safe. And sure, he doesn’t feel that his ability to do so is  _ entirely  _ compromised… but there will come a time when he must choose to lay his attentions on Hongjoong as his lover  _ or  _ as his protection, and to him, it feels like an unfair choice. Not for him, but for Hongjoong.

Hongjoong deserves someone who can give him every ounce of their attention… not someone whose focus will be split between him and a pervasive habit of hypervigilance. Seonghwa has spent a lifetime checking corners twice, glancing at doorways, assessing the integrity of paltry security systems in seconds flat. He wants to allow his focus to linger on other things… on the perfect shape of Hongjoong’s lips, the elegant slope of his nose, the way it scrunches up when he’s laughing, his  _ smile _ . He wants to be able to focus on  _ making _ him smile. He wants to be the reason his eyes light up and crinkle at the corners as he lets his tongue sit sideways between his flawless teeth in that way of his.

But every moment, his focus is drawn to something else. A noise, a too-sudden movement beyond the window—they are alone, in  _ private _ , and even now he cannot help the way he is in a near-constant state of threat-assessment. It’s maddening.

Seonghwa takes a deep breath, lets it out. He sits up against the headboard, watching Hongjoong where he’s still asleep next to him. After waking from a nightmare in the early morning hours, he’d managed to nod off again, eventually drifting out of Seonghwa’s arms to sprawl across his own pillow. The lines and curves of his face are sleep-soft and peaceful, now. There is no fear or worry or panic marring his brow or the bridge of his nose. He seems content, breathing softly through his mouth, his chest rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic cadence that Seonghwa can find comfort in.

There’s something about the way the rays of the late-morning sun fall over him, illuminating Hongjoong's skin. The light plays against his caramel hair, catches in the flyaways and makes them glow, haloing his face, golden and ethereal.

Hongjoong is  _ beautiful _ .

People have spent his entire life telling Seonghwa he’s handsome, and he isn’t sure he even knows what that really means. A pretty face? He’s always found it hard to express himself openly, holding back when he feels the urge to laugh or smile. So often his face gets caught up in some conflicted emotion and he ends up looking pained more than anything else. He doesn’t think that’s an attractive feature.

But Hongjoong… Hongjoong doesn’t hold anything back. His face is a canvas upon which he paints his every emotion. He feels joy so palpably, so outwardly, that it’s infectious.

Back when Seonghwa was a greenhorn in the military, he was sent out to aid Yeosu in the wake of a terrible storm which had caused a citywide blackout. He remembers vividly standing on the outskirts of town in the ruined power grid. It had taken them hours to clear out the debris, find the damage, repair the lines… but when it was all said and done, he had been the one to throw the switch. He had watched as the city sprang back to life, hundreds upon thousands upon millions of lights surging through the darkness along the coast. Thousands of people brought instant relief and comfort.

That was making Hongjoong smile: watching the coastline brighten and shine like a hundred million stars twinkling against the black of night. 

When he lets his focus drift back in, he sees Hongjoong’s eyes are open. He’s watching almost cautiously, most likely trying to read his expression, as far away as it is.

“You’re thinkin’ kinda loud up there.” Hongjoong mumbles, giving him a look.

“Sorry.”

“This isn’t the part where you claim this was a mistake and storm off, right?” There’s sarcasm in it, but it doesn’t quite cover the real fear creeping into his tone. 

Seonghwa gives a fond shake of his head. “No. I don’t think that does either of us any favors. What’s done is done.”

“Thank fuckin’ god.” Hongjoong says with a relieved sigh. “I could really do without the angst and the pining. I’ve got enough stress as it is.”

“I’d never dream of adding to it. I’m meant to be your solace.” Seonghwa replies solemnly, overdramatic, and leans in to kiss him. 

It’s different now that it’s not a race against his own morals, his own doubts. It’s slow and languid and sweet. There’s no going back, now. They’ve passed a point of no return, and all he can do is live with the choice he made. He doesn’t know if he made the wrong one… if he’ll end up regretting it when his feelings get in the way of his job. He wishes he could split himself in two, into the lover and the protector, but he knows it is impossible. For now, all he can do is move forward.

Seonghwa thinks that even if he cannot be in multiple places at once, he can give his all, and that will be enough. It has to be.

***

They decide to keep their relationship a secret—obviously—because Hongjoong is terrified it will get Seonghwa fired. He’s probably right about that. On paper, from the outside… it doesn’t look good. Whether people assume Hongjoong took some sort of advantage being his employer, by extension, or if they feel that their age difference means that Seonghwa is the one taking advantage… it isn’t worth the scrutiny. Not right now.

Things seem to die down, for a while. Hongjoong treads carefully, so carefully that it breaks Seonghwa’s heart a little. He doesn’t push for interviews or anything to keep his name and his music out there. He only asks—begs, really—for Eden to organize a fan meeting. He wants it to be a small one, with slots going to members of his fancafe who enter a lottery, and only  _ after _ Seonghwa has scoured their social media and vetted them. 

They keep it to fifty people, and Seonghwa takes his time researching every single candidate before giving the okay. They agree to take precautions such as ID checks at the door, but Hongjoong draws the line at a no-touching rule.

“Other agencies have started implementing them for some groups. It wouldn’t be unheard of.” Eden reasons, but Hongjoong just isn’t having it.

“You can’t tell them they’re not allowed to touch me. I don’t mind holding people’s hands. It’ll be fine. Seonghwa will be with me.”

Seonghwa is glad Hongjoong has so much faith in him, but really, he cannot account for everything.

The event goes smoothly. No one is rowdy, no one has ill intentions. Only the invitees are made aware of the location and are told to keep it under wraps so no protestors or anti-fans show up. It’s just Hongjoong and a group of fans who all love him to the moon and back.

It’s what he deserves.

Seonghwa stands directly behind him as Hongjoong greets everyone, seated at a long long table which is already piled up with gifts by the time they’re halfway through. He’s had everything on his head from flower crowns to small pirate hats and a variety of animal ears. Right now he dons fluffy white cat-like ears and a floral circlet of pinks and blues. The ears had come with little paw gloves, but he had taken them off when a fan wanted to hold his hand. Hongjoong gladly laces his fingers with his fans, even compares hand sizes quite a bit—they’re almost  _ always _ smaller, even compared to some of the petite women who come through the line. Seonghwa finds it cute.

There’s one foreign fan who comes up and proudly displays a little pin on her blouse. It’s in the shape of a shield and says ‘Hongjoong Protection Squad’. Hongjoong laughs delightedly and mentions how he heard about it through twitter. The fan seems flustered that he reads their posts and fumbles a little passing him a small box, opening it with trembling hands.

It’s another shield, shaped differently, and it’s larger. It reads ‘Hongjoong Protection Squad President’.

“It’s for your bodyguard.” The fan says, glancing up toward him somewhat bashfully.

Hongjoong’s face lights up and he stands, turning to him with a huge smile. “Seonghwa-hyung! You should wear it!”

Seonghwa acquiesces and stands patiently while Hongjoong fishes a hand into his jacket and pins it above his pocket, like a police badge. His hand lingers for just a moment under the fabric, palm resting over his heart for a beat before he pulls away and smooths down his lapels.

“This is your new uniform.” He teases before he turns back to the fan and sits, making sure to spend a little extra time with her since he’s spent quite a bit of it not even looking in her direction.

Seonghwa has a hard time reining in his smile as they chat, mostly about him. The fan comments about them being friendly with each other, which she says is nice because most idols seem to resent their bodyguards.

“Hyung’s a good sport.” Hongjoong tells her as he signs her album, writing ‘To Hongjoong Protection Squad founder’ and putting a few hearts around her name.

She explains how the pins were a group order thing they did and that the proceeds were donated to an LGBT equality organization in his name. Hongjoong thanks her sincerely and squeezes her hand before he finally lets go.

After a while of Hongjoong talking and moving a little too animatedly, one of his cat ear clips slips off. He removes them and the flower crown in favor of a circlet made of lace ruffles and satin rosettes in the colors of the rainbow. There are little ribbons which hang down in the back and tangle with his mullet and it’s all rather adorable. Seonghwa has to school his expression because he’s sure he looks like a dopey idiot every time he glances at Hongjoong.

There’s actually a good mix of fans of different genders, so it isn’t  _ just  _ a stream of giggling fangirls (which Seonghwa, of course, does not mind in the slightest… they all seem very unlikely to cause his charge any harm, so he will gladly take them in droves). There is one guy who is practically trembling with nervousness when he finally sits down in front of Hongjoong, and he seems like he might break down crying at any second. He tells Hongjoong how his sudden confession on VLive felt so raw and honest that he was inspired to come out to his own family. It hadn’t ended well, but he didn’t regret it because no matter what their reaction was, it didn’t change the truth of who  _ he _ was and that was the point of coming out. To live his truth.

Hongjoong takes both of the fanboy’s hands into his own and Seonghwa understands all at once why he would risk the off chance of someone being slightly inappropriate to forego the no-touching rule because  _ this _ is so obviously what he needs in that moment.

“It can be hard to live your truth, especially when so many people hate you for it or want you to remain silent. But the most important thing is to be true to yourself… because at the end of it all, it’s your life. Everyone else is just a temporary part of it. You have to do what’s right for  _ you _ , what’s true to  _ you _ . And I’m proud of you for doing that.”

The fanboy nods, his eyes sparkling. Hongjoong keeps one hand on his while he signs his album, and makes a funny comment to get him to laugh. The boy thanks him at least six times, he thinks, before he heads back to sit down in the audience. Hongjoong might see the way his friends wrap him up and he quietly cries against them… he might, but if he does, he pretends that he doesn’t.

Hongjoong holds it together through the rest of the fansign. Through more sob stories (and good stories), some fun games and a small performance of a couple of his songs before he says his thank-yous and goodbyes.

In the greenroom, while the staff is packing up all his gifts and loading them up, Hongjoong breaks down and sobs into Seonghwa’s chest. Seonghwa holds him, whispers that everything is all right, rubs his back and tells him that it’s okay to let it out. When all the staff clears out, he wipes his tears and presses a soft kiss to his forehead, then his lips. Hongjoong kisses him back feverishly for a moment, pulling him in harshly before he seems to remember where they are and backs away.

Seonghwa smooths Hongjoong’s hair down and kisses the crown of his head. They part just as staff returns to let them know the car is ready and they can leave.

***

Hongjoong starts to spend more and more time at his studio. Seonghwa doesn’t know if he’s trying to channel all his frustrations and worries into something productive or if he’s just locking himself away to escape it all. Seonghwa tries to talk to him about it, tries to get him to talk through his emotions, but Hongjoong won’t. He just sidesteps, changes the subject, often crawls into Seonghwa’s lap and kisses him silent, if they are alone in Hongjoong’s apartment. 

Seonghwa knows how he obsesses over twitter, so he monitors mentions of Hongjoong every so often. After the fanmeeting, there are a lot of people praising his resilience and his love for the fans. There are always those who are critical of him, or outright hateful, but they seem to be blocked by most fans based on the lack of interaction, and the accounts are often mass-reported and deleted quickly judging by how swiftly they come and go.

There are threads about  _ him _ , too, which is a little awkward. He isn’t used to the spotlight. He’s used to being the suit in the background, nothing more. But the fangirl who brought the badge for him made an entire post about it and the subtweets include her screaming about how he now wears the thing in public at all times (it is at Hongjoong’s insistence, of course; if he doesn’t wear it, he notices and never fails to comment). It has, as he said at the fansign, become his ‘official uniform’. Eden smirks wryly about it every time he sees it, even chuckles in amusement, but he knows better than to tell Hongjoong he shouldn’t make his bodyguard wear the silly thing. Allow him his small pleasures… that way, it stings just a little less when he has to tell him another interview was canceled or turned down due to excessive hate or protests being aimed at the media personnel.

It’s a particularly quiet Tuesday when Seonghwa leaves Hongjoong at his studio to compose. He never ventures too far… since he cannot ever be sure when Hongjoong will call him back to head home, but more often than not, he has several hours at least before he’s needed. He runs some logistical errands for Eden, checks in with his friends at the police station who run the worst of the hate mail through their lab for him… it never gets them anything, but he always tries. He thinks he might have time to run to the market to grab some refills on Hongjoong’s preferred snacks so he starts heading that way, only for his phone to ring.

He presses the button on his Bluetooth to pick up the line. “Go ahead.”

“Seonghwa-hyung I think someone is at the studio.”

It’s Hongjoong, but his voice is so  _ small _ . He sounds terrified, his words shaky and thin.

Seonghwa feels his blood turn to ice in his veins. He shifts gears, drifting out to make a hairpin u-turn back toward Hongjoong’s studio. His leather driving gloves catch on the wheel, helping to keep the turn steady.  “You’re still there, now? What happened?”

He keeps his voice calm but the tone is somewhat urgent. He shifts gears again and guns it.

“I’ve been here, mixing, but when I walked by my door to go grab another drink there was an envelope that wasn’t there before, someone slid it under the door or something. I don’t know how long ago it was, or if they’re still here—”

“Don’t touch the envelope and stay in your studio with the door locked. I’m coming to you.” 

“Okay… stay on the line with me?”

“Yes, don’t hang up.”

“Okay… um… h-how far are you?” Hongjoong asks.

“Give me six and a half minutes.” Seonghwa tells him, and he hopes it’s a mild comfort knowing he’s fairly close. “Can you remember the last time you went by the door and nothing was there? Your best guess.”

“I don’t… I don’t know. Honestly? When I first got here. I sat at my computer for hours. It could’ve been right after I got here or five minutes ago.”

Seonghwa hums, having expected as much. People were always trying to warn Hongjoong that his work ethic would kill him, but he didn’t think they had ever meant it literally.

Hongjoong suddenly lets out a terrified whimper and there’s a clatter on the other end of the line.

“What is it?” Seonghwa asks, a sort of desperate concern in his tone.

“There’s—I don’t know, I thought I heard someone in the hall.” Hongjoong responds, voice cracking.

“I’m almost there, keep the door closed.” Seonghwa tells him, composed but edged with worry.

“Okay.” He manages to squeak out. “But uh, don’t crash or anything on my account.”

“You underestimate my driving abilities.” Seonghwa quips back, but there’s no humor in it. He’s too focused on everything else.

He peels into what it definitely not a parking space at the front of the building—he has no time to worry about something as banal as traffic laws at the moment, admittedly—and barely even closes his door before he’s bolting for the building. He doesn’t bother with the elevator; he takes the stairs, two at a time, to the third floor. When he emerges from the stairwell, there’s no one in the hall, at least not anymore. He gives a cursory glance at the door to Hongjoong’s studio before he knocks hard, the sound muffled slightly by his gloves.

“It’s Seonghwa.”

“Oh thank god.” Hongjoong breathes, wrenching the door open and blindly throwing himself into Seonghwa’s chest. He wraps his arms around him like he’s a lifeline, gripping at his back as though he might fall were he not bracing himself.

Seonghwa returns the embrace for the briefest moment—it is a quick, but warm gesture, until Seonghwa is wrenching him away with a regretful look.

He almost asks about the envelope, but then he spots it there on the floor in front of the door, just inside the studio. He furrows his brow and pulls Hongjoong inside, closing the door behind him.

Seonghwa looks around, grabbing a piece of mail from the counter. It’s just a junk letter; Hongjoong probably hasn’t even bothered opening it. He watches his bodyguard in confusion.

“What is it?”

Seonghwa crouches and tries to push the envelope under the door. There’s a ridge of rubbery plastic running along the bottom to help with soundproofing, which seals tight against the bottom jamb when it’s closed. The letter crinkles and folds in his grip, but it won’t slide under the door. He looks up at him expectantly.

It’s visible in his eyes, when Hongjoong’s blood turns to ice in his veins. His next words are barely more than a whisper, “They opened the door.”

Seonghwa moves. He takes Hongjoong by his shoulders and presses him into the door, so he’s facing into the studio. Then he goes and checks every corner, every closet, every crevice, every millimeter of the space. He finds nothing.

He picks up the offending letter, turning it over in his gloved hand. He can see the messy permanent-marker scrawl on the paper inside through the thin envelope. He has no doubt it’s another threat, potentially the most concerning yet given how it was delivered.

“I’ll have this sent to my friends at the lab for testing. And I will accompany you in the studio from now on.”

Weeks ago, Hongjoong likely would have offered protest… maybe even thrown a fit. Now, he just nods.

“I… I had my headphones in, my back was to the door, I must not have noticed…  _ how _ ? They could’ve killed me. They could’ve… done anything, and I wouldn’t have even noticed until it was too late.”

Hongjoong sounds like he’s on the verge of having a mental breakdown, and he probably is—voice strung-out and quaking. He looks lightheaded, and staggers when he pushes off the door. Seonghwa reaches out to stabilize him automatically, as natural as anything.

“In all honesty, this tells me these people—or this  _ person— _ is not interested in harming you so much as tormenting you.” Seonghwa reasons. “We had no idea they had access to your studio. Now they have to know I will be ramping up security in the wake of this. Why give that advantage away over something so small when it could have been used to bring you  _ real  _ harm?”

“Somehow that’s… only a little comforting.” Hongjoong says in a thin voice.

“Regardless, we shouldn’t dwell on the worst of the what-ifs. And we should also get you back home.”

Hongjoong nods, agreeing.

When they get downstairs, Hongjoong climbs into the passenger’s seat as he so often does. Once they’re on the road, Seonghwa speaks, though his eyes stay trained straight ahead.

“I don’t care how impossible it seems, I want you to tell me  _ everyone  _ who has the code to your studio.”

“U-uh… other than me: KQ’s CEO, Eden-hyung, and two trainee rappers with the company; Mingi and Junyoung.” Hongjoong rattles off, voice shaking. From the look in his eyes, he can’t believe it had been any of them. It’s as much an impossibility to him as the culprit being the boogeyman, he imagines.

“Plus building maintenance and management would have a master code. It’s a small suspect pool until you consider how easily someone connected to that place could get it.” Seonghwa murmurs, still in his own thoughts. There are too many variables. They still know so little.

“I don’t know…” Hongjoong grimaces. “A lot of producers and idols have studios there… it’s trusted in the industry.”

“All it would take was one employee who was willing to take a bribe. One employee who disagrees with your lifestyle. I know it seems conspiratorial but… we need to consider the possibility.” Seonghwa reasons.

“I wanna know what it says.” Hongjoong mumbles suddenly, though his eyes haven’t left the dashboard, staring straight ahead but glossed over, far away. “After your investigators look at it. I want to know.”

Seonghwa frowns, nodding… but he isn’t sure if he will ever have the heart to tell him.

***

Seonghwa starts joining Hongjoong at his studio, and—unsurprisingly—it isn’t an ideal solution. Seonghwa sits on the boxy, black faux-leather couch that’s tucked into the corner nearest the door, letting his mind wander a little while still remaining aware of what’s going on around him. Hongjoong seems to be making an attempt at being productive, but so often his gaze tracks back over to his bodyguard, curious and perhaps something else entirely.

“Aren’t you bored?” Hongjoong asks after two hours have passed.

“Remember when I mentioned those cabinet meetings?”

Hongjoong snorts. “Yeah but… half the time I’m just dead silent. And the other half I’m making weird noises with random objects to record sound effects.”

Seonghwa shrugs. “At the very least, the view is infinitely better.”

Hongjoong gives him a  _ look _ , admonishing. “Really? Playing to my vanity?”

“We don’t have many idol-types who are elected officials.” Seonghwa replies in a subdued tone.

Hongjoong just barks a laugh and throws something at him, which he easily bats away as he tries to hold back his own laughter.

After a moment, when the mood has mellowed, Seonghwa sounds pensive as he speaks again.

“I hope that I’m not… providing too much of a distraction to you. Or that you feel as if I’m judging you at all. You should continue to work as though I’m not here. I know that seems impossible, but I can assure you I really don’t—”

Seonghwa stops talking because Hongjoong has crossed the room and slid into his lap, giving him a fond but incredulous look.

“I admit, you’re a little distracting. But not because I think you’re watching me make weird noises into a mic like I’m some kind of lunatic.” Hongjoong murmurs, his nose sliding along Seonghwa’s in that sweet way of his. “Mostly because I wonder if you think this time alone together could be better spent.”

“We always have our evenings at home.” Seonghwa protests. So often they’ve been spending them together, after all. “I only wonder if I prevent you from doing your best work when I’m here. I want you to be able to work and write and compose in peace. It’s so clearly your passion, and—”

“Seonghwa-hyung…” Hongjoong husks, leaning in until their lips just barely brush. “Honestly, right now… I’d very much like it if you  _ passionately  _ fucked me right here on my studio couch.”

“For you to expect me to do that, you’d have to be running on the assumption that I simply carry lube and condoms with me everywhere I go.” Seonghwa retorts.

“Well, you do strike me as a man who’s always prepared for anything.” Hongjoong admits, leaning over to the side table next to the couch and opening the drawer. “But… in this case,  _ I _ took the liberty.”

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow at him, smirking. “Kim Hongjoong, I’m impressed. Did you plan to seduce just anyone in this studio or was that strictly for me?”

It’s a stupid question. It’s  _ stupid _ . It’s selfish. It’s something he’s not sure he wants the answer to the moment it leaves his mouth, but now it’s too late. It’s already been asked.

But Hongjoong just grins, digging his teeth into his lower lip for a moment before he replies, eyes glinting playfully. “Wasn’t planning on seducing anyone else in here. I even got the normal kind so the whole place won’t smell like cinnamon or fake cherries.”

“Oh, would that be so bad?” Seonghwa teases, pressing a gentle kiss to his bottom lip. “Your response to the scent was becoming almost Pavlovian… it was getting entertaining.”

Hongjoong huffs at him, swatting his chest. “Don’t be mean.”

“I’m not. I didn’t say I would  _ deny _ you.” Seonghwa reasons, running his hands up Hongjoong’s sides. Truth be told, he’s not sure he can deny him much of anything.

Hongjoong smirks and slides off the couch, settling between Seonghwa’s legs. He pulls him out of his pants and strokes over him until he’s fully hard, then leans down to take him into his mouth.

Seonghwa has always been more inclined to lean toward giving rather than receiving. He takes pleasure in watching his partner fall apart under his touch, in finding new ways to please them. But he thinks he could watch Hongjoong go down on him like this forever. The way he is so singularly-focused, so eager… and he looks gorgeous like this, his lips wrapped obscenely around his cock, his cheeks bulging a little to accommodate him.

Seonghwa shivers and runs a hand through his hair, soothing more than demanding. He never rushes him, never forces him down or tries to control his movements. He just basks in it, watching with heat smoldering behind his eyes, rising from where it coils hotly in his gut.

After a while, Hongjoong pulls off with a lewd pop. He grins and stands, tipping forward and kissing his nose. He pulls back and slides off of him, making a show of walking over to his computer—he’s such a minx, he knows  _ damn _ well how good his ass looks in those pants—where he taps a few keys. An unobtrusive beat with a deep bassline starts playing on loop through the speakers, just loud enough to create a little ambient noise.

“This room is mostly soundproofed.” Hongjoong says, too-casual, as though he’s discussing something as menial as the weather while he pulls his hoodie off over his head and stalks back toward the couch. “But better to have at least something playing.”

Seonghwa thinks the look in his eyes is very,  _ very _ dangerous.

He has learned to trust his instincts in that regard.

Minutes later when Seonghwa is perched above him on the couch, his cock sliding home with familiarity, he thinks those instincts must count for something.

Up until now, Hongjoong has been acting as he always does. He writhes and mewls under Seonghwa’s touch, taking his fingers so much easier now than he had on that first night. Seonghwa avoids his prostate, avoids riling him up too much in favor of prepping him, and when he breathlessly begs for his cock, Seonghwa obliges.

Now, as he gives him exactly what he wants, Hongjoong lets out a too-loud moan, throwing his head back against the cushions. It’s more than loud, it’s  _ overly _ loud, like he’s doing it entirely on purpose. 

Something must show on his face, because Hongjoong looks up at him with a coy expression, rutting his hips down a little.

“I can’t exactly do this at home. I live in an apartment.” Hongjoong pouts, but then he’s biting his lip and grinning mischievously, his nose scrunching a little. “So c’mon, make me scream.”

Seonghwa bristles, because he knows a challenge when he hears one.

He really is entirely too weak to Hongjoong’s charms, he thinks, as he gives him exactly what he wants.

“A-ah  _ fuck _ hyung!” Hongjoong wails as Seonghwa fucks him hard and fast. His fingernails dig into the arm of the couch so hard that the vinyl threatens to tear.

“You like that?” Seonghwa asks in a low voice, egging him on, because he has very little self control, he finds, when it comes to Kim Hongjoong.

Hongjoong keens, arching up to meet him. “Yes  _ fuck _ , s’good,  _ it’sogood-!” _

“I could get used to hearing you like this.” Seonghwa husks, rutting his hips up just a little harder to hear Hongjoong again. He lets out an honest-to-god  _ squeal _ and Seonghwa shivers.

Hongjoong starts begging for him to be  _ closer _ , to go  _ deeper _ , and Seonghwa realizes he is limited by his position on the admittedly narrow cushions. He rests one foot on the floor and the other on the couch itself before he threads his arms under Hongjoong and stands, taking the other with him as he goes.

As an idol, Hongjoong has a sort of presence that makes him feel larger than life. He is imposing in that he is talented, outspoken, confident… but in Seonghwa’s arms, like this, he seems  _ so small _ . It’s as though he can simply gather him up and carry Hongjoong with him wherever he goes.

Seonghwa ruts his hips up at the same time that he lets Hongjoong drop against him, allowing gravity do most of the work. Hongjoong looses a moan that sounds like it was punched out of him, legs tightening around Seonghwa’s waist while his hands scrabble to grab at what they can. One is braced on his shoulder, the other curled around his neck and tangled up in his hair.

They’re so close now that their foreheads are touching, their lips brushing on every other thrust. Hongjoong gasps and moans into his mouth, his grip tightening every time Seonghwa drops him down onto his cock. Hongjoong’s eyes are hooded, his gaze smoldering as he locks eyes with him and doesn’t let him go. Somehow, it’s more intimate than anything they are doing, than anything they have ever done.

Hongjoong whines, his feet kicking a little in what might be discomfort or need.

Seonghwa crosses the room, setting Hongjoong down on his knees in his desk chair. He grabs it to stop it from rolling, using the leverage to pull Hongjoong against him and back down onto his cock. Hongjoong groans, hands gripping at the chair, his nails catching on the top seams. Seonghwa’s palms move to Hongjoong’s hips, holding fast and pulling him flush against him as he drives into him with renewed purpose.

The sound Hongjoong lets out is  _ obscene _ .

Seonghwa picks his rhythm back up as though there had been no interruption at all, to a chorus of sweet sounds. Hongjoong isn’t posturing anymore. Seonghwa can see it in the way he looks over his shoulder, the way his eyes have glazed over, the way his mouth hangs open a little and the noises just tumble out, like he doesn’t have the presence of mind to stop them.

Seonghwa runs a hand up Hongjoong’s spine, letting it settle over the curve of his shoulder. Hongjoong reaches back with one arm, just trying to get a hand on Seonghwa. He barely manages to reach his thigh, his fingers grabbing desperately for the fabric of the pants he is still wearing. He’s letting out nothing but a litany of whines, now, staccato on every thrust. He is breathing in fevered, ragged gasps, and when his head dips down, pressed hard into the back of the chair, Seonghwa knows he is close.

He barely gets a hand around Hongjoong, managing only a half-dozen pulls at his cock before he’s stiffening under him and coming with a visceral scream, all over the black leather of his chair. He shakes apart under Seonghwa, and that is Seonghwa’s undoing. He comes himself with a bitten-off shout of Hongjoong’s name, pressed lovingly into the apex of his shoulder.

For a moment, they just breathe. It’s several long minutes before Seonghwa pulls out, gingerly turns Hongjoong around in his chair, careful to avoid the mess.

Hongjoong stares at him for a short while before he leans forward, stretching a bit to tap at his computer. The music stops dead, the room falling silent. He settles back into his chair, letting out a long breath.

“I may have made a tactical error.” Hongjoong mumbles, frowning so hard that his bottom lip juts out a little.

“And what’s that?” Seonghwa asks indulgently, kissing him softly because Hongjoong is adorable when he pouts.

“I think I have to throw this whole mix out. Pavlov and all that.” Hongjoong laments, sighing regretfully.

Seonghwa laughs, pulling him in for another kiss, and he thinks it’s likely for the best.

***

Things are calm for about a week, which means it’s probably about time for another incident. Seonghwa is starting to sense a disturbing pattern, and it seems as though Hongjoong isn’t allowed to go more than a week or two without  _ something  _ happening.

In this case, it’s not even direct. KQ Entertainment announces their intent to debut a new idol group in the near future. As expected by Hongjoong himself, it will feature two rapper trainees with the company; Mingi and Junyoung, as well as a powerhouse vocalist Hongjoong had met briefly on a reality show whose name is Jongho. Speculation abounds that a dancer named Yunho may also be in the final roster.

This should be happy news. Hongjoong is delighted when he hears, sending congratulations texts to Mingi and Junyoung and overall just chattering excitedly to Seonghwa about it while they’re in the studio. But as soon as his good mood comes, it leaves. He goes from deciding between a few different restaurants to take them to in celebration to staring at his phone screen in dead silence. It’s obvious Hongjoong is manically checking his phone again, and Seonghwa wonders if social media is the culprit.

He hazards a glance at twitter on his own phone and his theory is confirmed. There are a lot of people making comments about how they hope none of the members are gay, or claiming they’ll be happy when they debut so KQ can “lock Hongjoong in the dungeon until everyone forgets about him”. The hate isn’t  _ all  _ there is; there are plenty of people pledging their support no matter what, even hyperbolically claiming them for the LGBT community before they even debut, but Seonghwa knows well enough that Hongjoong hears the hate so much more loudly than the love and support.

Seonghwa knows from Hongjoong’s hushed conversations over coffee with Mingi that Mingi isn’t heterosexual, but that he has no intentions of coming out anytime soon. Hongjoong hadn’t even lamented the lack of public solidarity; he’d just told him to do whatever he had to and whatever felt right. It incenses him, the kind of response that awaits idols like him were he to choose to go public. Seonghwa cannot blame him for wanting to stay closeted.

Seonghwa locks his phone and pockets it, standing. Hongjoong doesn’t even look up; he’s too embroiled in reading a comment war on instagram. The bodyguard sighs softly, then clears his throat.

“Perhaps you should call it an early night.” He suggests, tone too meaningful.

The other still doesn’t look up, scrolling, scrolling,  _ scrolling _ . “S’fine, I haven’t gotten anything done yet really—”

“Hongjoong-ah.” Seonghwa says softly, insistent.

That causes him to look up, meeting his eyes. Seonghwa has only ever used his name in the heat of passion. They aren’t in public, though, or around others, so he doesn’t see any reason not to.

“Let’s go home.” Seonghwa tries, and finally, Hongjoong nods, shoving his phone into his hoodie without even looking away from him, like he doesn’t want to break the moment.

He climbs into the passenger’s seat of Seonghwa’s car, quiet and pensive. He stares out the window, toward the rapidly setting sun, watching as it paints the sky in hues of purple and orange.

“It’s so early. What am I even gonna do with myself all night?” Hongjoong comments off-hand. He seems to realize just how that could be taken and ducks his head a little, grimacing. “I just mean, I’m not used to having so much free time.”

“We could watch a movie.” Seonghwa suggests. He’s not sure just why he has invited himself into this scenario, but it’s another instance of things leaving his mouth before he approves them. He’s never had this problem before Hongjoong.

“Mm, maybe something light. Can we watch the one with the minions in it?”

Seonghwa has no idea why  _ he’s _ being asked; as far as he is concerned, Hongjoong can watch anything he damn well pleases. But he wonders if maybe Hongjoong needs someone to tell him it’s okay. Sometimes people need to be assured that the little things they like to indulge in are allowed.

“Sure, if that’s what you want.”

From the way Hongjoong beams, he thinks that’s precisely what he needs to hear.

Hongjoong spends the rest of the drive comparing the merits of all the films thus far which have featured minions, and Seonghwa realizes these are the little yellow things in overalls that the fans are always gifting him. He’s not much of one for pop culture so it’s no wonder to him that he’s only seen them vaguely in passing before. Seonghwa now understands why Hongjoong’s house slippers are ridiculously shaped like the things, why he has plushies of them throughout the apartment.

Hongjoong seems in slightly better spirits by the time they arrive. Seonghwa can sense that he still just wants to relax and decompress. He grabs him some of his favorite snacks before settling with him on the couch, pulling the other close against his chest.

He lets his fingertips play idly against his skin while Hongjoong eats and watches his silly animated film. Seonghwa isn’t really paying attention to the movie… instead he tracks the rise and fall of Hongjoong’s chest, the occasional sweet peals of laughter, the hums of approval when he scratches gently against his scalp or traces nonsensical patterns around his navel from beneath his shirt. When he presses a gentle kiss into the curve of his shoulder, Hongjoong giggles softly and nuzzles his head against Seonghwa’s until the angle is right for him lean in and kiss his cheek.

Seonghwa didn’t think that it would ever be like this. This is… sweet. It’s domestic. He had fully expected Hongjoong to be firmly focused on physicality, on chasing a visceral, sexual connection in the wake of so much strife and adrenaline and fear. But as they sit together on the couch with Hongjoong settled cozily in his arms he thinks… this has the makings of something  _ more _ than he ever expected. This has the makings of a relationship. If he lets himself look at all those outings they have together, all the cafe trips and ice cream stops and shopping excursions—ones where it’s just the two of them, talking, getting to know each other—if he lets himself see them as  _ dates _ , then this feels… inevitable. It feels like natural progression. It feels like falling in love.

The thought terrifies Seonghwa just a little, because he cannot possibly know where Hongjoong’s feelings lie on the matter. It may only be a relationship of convenience for him… and if that is the case, Seonghwa can respect that. He is an idol, which means his life and time are micromanaged to an obscene degree. Seonghwa is there near-constantly, his presence is not concerning to anyone at the company, and they get along well. All convenient. It speaks to reason that Hongjoong would see him as such.

But the way Hongjoong looks at him after he presses a sweet kiss to his lips, easy as anything… there’s something so earnest in the way his eyes crinkle, the way his nose scrunches up as he leans in and nudges it against Seonghwa’s own. It doesn’t feel like  _ convenience _ . It feels like—

Suddenly, Seonghwa is pulled out of his thoughts by a loud crash that comes from behind them, accompanied the sound of shattered glass and a heavy thud. Hongjoong lets out a shriek, covering his ears automatically.

Seonghwa dives over Hongjoong, pinning him down against the cushions on instinct. He waits, but nothing else happens. It’s hard, looking down at Hongjoong like this, his face panic-stricken and confused. He much prefers those moments when they are alone and he is above him and there is not a care that enters Hongjoong’s mind.

Seonghwa reins in his stray thoughts, listening. He hears distant footfalls; the scrape of shoes pounding the pavement. Someone is running.

“Stay down, don’t move.” Seonghwa hisses, gentle as he can manage, before bolting up. He quickly assesses the area; broken glass, scuffed wood floor, a brick with a slur scrawled upon it in angry red paint… and out the window, a figure, running away in the darkness.

It’s his only lead. He  _ can’t _ let it slip away.

“Hongjoong-ah, stay here!” Seonghwa calls back over his shoulder, making a split-second decision.

A stupid decision, really, but he doesn’t have any alternatives.

He runs straight out through the broken glass door, leaping over the shards before bounding over the balcony partition. Hongjoong yelps in protest, he hears that much the moment he jumps. It’s a small building, but he’s on the second floor. It’s not the furthest he’s fallen on purpose—or on accident, for that matter—and he sticks the landing, preventing any breaks or sprains by rolling out of it.

“Stay there!” Seonghwa shouts back, insistent, letting his house slippers stay there as he bolts after the suspect. Asphalt and pavement aren’t the best on his bare feet but anything less than real shoes will just slow him down anyway.

He sprints down the street, taking a hairpin turn after the guy. He’s small; he’s got much shorter legs than Seonghwa and he’s not particularly athletic. Seonghwa catches up in under a minute. He tackles him, taking them both to the ground. He’s wearing a hat and a face mask and when Seonghwa tears them away, he freezes.

He’s a kid.

He’s a kid, and he looks  _ terrified _ .

Seonghwa puts on his best serious expression, his tone stern, and hauls him to his feet. “Kid, you’ve got three seconds to explain what the hell you just did that for.”

“I-it wasn’t my idea!” The kid stammers out around deep, heaving breaths. “This old guy, h-he paid me to do it. He gave me the money and the address and the brick and everything! I didn’t think someone would jump out a  _ window _ over it…”

“How old is  _ old _ ?” Seonghwa asks. “My age? Older?” 

“I don’t know, older? H-he had sunglasses on, I didn’t really see!”

Seonghwa frowns. This is is only lead. He can’t hold him, but he can’t just let him slip away, either. He pulls out his phone, tabbing through his photos.

“Any of these guys look familiar?” He swipes through them slowly, showing the kid. He has photos of some KQ performers, trainees, management and staff, the booking photo of the acid-attack suspect, and some pictures he’d lifted from the social media profiles of some online threats they’d traced back to people via IP address. He gets through about half of them before the kid stops him.

“H-him! I think it was him!”

Seonghwa looks at the screen, brow furrowing. “You’re certain?”

“Yeah, he grabbed my shoulder kinda hard and I remember that ring, it sorta hurt.”

Seonghwa frowns, nodding. “All right. You can go… but don’t take money from strangers to do questionable things in the night anymore, hm?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” He grumbles, brushing himself off before heading down the opposite way.

Seonghwa sighs, staring at the photo on his mobile phone’s screen for a long moment before closing the app. He pockets it and heads back for the apartment, wondering just what he’s going to tell Hongjoong.

***

“What the  _ fuck _ was that?” Hongjoong rasps as he lets Seonghwa back into his apartment, once more wearing the slippers he’d retrieved from downstairs. He at least has the good sense to keep his voice down, since it’s somewhat late. It doesn’t seem like any of the neighbors have bothered to check on the source of the initial crash anyway, which probably speaks to how much the people living here keep to themselves.

“An ill-conceived plan. More of a reaction, honestly. It was a lead.” Seonghwa says, sighing. 

“Did they get away?” Hongjoong asks, his tone far more subdued.

“I… let him go. He was a kid. Too young to know how stupid he was being. He says an older man paid him to do it.” Seonghwa tells him, choosing to be honest.

Hongjoong starts at that. “Paid? Did he know who the guy was?”

Seonghwa frowns. “The kid didn’t really see his face. He couldn’t be sure.”

“I see.” Hongjoong murmurs, crestfallen. “Then, so much for him being a lead.”

“Unfortunately.” Seonghwa replies, gaze tracking over to the brick on the floor, surrounded by shattered glass. “If you want to involve the police, I’ll call them. But if not, I should get this cleaned up.”

“No… no police.” Hongjoong says, shaking his head. “Not like there’s a point.”

Seonghwa concedes that much, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deeply regret that it is so.

He goes and gets the broom from the kitchen closet, insisting Hongjoong stay put while he cleans up. He isn’t sure if anything else got tossed in with the brick, or just how far the glass spread, so he doesn’t want to risk Hongjoong hurting himself.

After the floor is clean and the brick and glass disposed of, he ductapes a sheet to the empty sliding door frame to keep insects and the elements out. It’s not supposed to rain for a few days at least, so it will likely be fine for now.

“I’ll run a vacuum tomorrow, but it’s a little late and I don’t want to anger your neighbors.” Seonghwa tells him as he finishes up. “We can also call in someone to repair it in the morning. Would you like to sleep at my place tonight?”

Hongjoong perks up at that. “Your place?”

“I know you’re on the second floor, but I still don’t like the idea of there not being much of a physical barrier between you and the outside world… save for the sheet.” Seonghwa explains, pointing toward where it billows against the tape when the breeze passes through.

“No, yeah, that would be… yeah. Let me just… grab some stuff.” Hongjoong stammers, heading into his bedroom.

He’s right down the hall, so he only takes his favorite pillow, his phone charger and a hoodie in case he gets cold. He walks with Seonghwa just a few doors down, and Seonghwa sees the way he blinks in shock as they enter his apartment.

“Oh my god it’s like an operating room in here.” Hongjoong says, presumably taking in the spotless, largely white decor.

“This is what floors look like when you own something called a mop.” Seonghwa bites back.

“Yeah, and an obsessive compulsion for cleanliness.” Hongjoong mutters.

“I will send you back to your own apartment, alone, if you’re going to act ungrateful.” Seonghwa bristles.

“No you won’t.” Hongjoong calls his bluff.

Seonghwa sighs. “No, I won’t.”

Hongjoong grins victoriously. “Bet you’d have a conniption if I tried to get you to fuck me anywhere but the bed after you’ve put a ton of towels down, huh?”

Seonghwa’s expression betrays nothing when he replies, “I would have you on any surface you wished.”

Hongjoong visibly chokes a bit, and he feels victorious.

“I would just clean it thoroughly afterward.” He continues succinctly, clearing his throat. “But tonight… I think you should just sleep. It’s been a hell of an evening.”

Hongjoong laughs, looking a little surprised. “Ah, dropping some of those formalities, I see! You’re finally starting to talk like a human born in our century.”

“I was going to say ‘tumultuous’ but I thought you might nag me over it.” Seonghwa admits with a smirk.

Hongjoong shakes his head, holding out a hand. “Sleep it is, then. Come to bed?”

“It’s my apartment.” Seonghwa reminds, slipping his hand into the other’s regardless. “Shouldn’t I be asking you?”

“You should.” Hongjoong agrees, not making any move toward the bedroom.

Seonghwa grins at him, huffing a laugh. His voice is impossibly soft, impossibly fond when he tosses his head toward the bedroom door and repeats, “Come to bed?”

Hongjoong grins at him, squeezing his hand, and lets himself be led.

***

Seonghwa rises with the sun.

The morning sunrise greets the windows just across from his bed, and he has always been a light sleeper. Next to him, Hongjoong is snoozing blissfully into his minion pillow. He chuckles softly to himself, fondly leaning down to kiss his cheek before he stealthily climbs out of bed.

He makes a few calls. First for the window repair… they claim they may have enough time to come in the late afternoon but if things get backed up it might take until tomorrow. After hanging up with them, Seonghwa calls Eden, letting him know what happened and advising that Hongjoong will be taking the week off. He doesn’t frame it as a recommendation, even though he hasn’t bothered to run it by Hongjoong yet. The week off is actually for him, because he needs some time to collect evidence and work on his investigation into the source of Hongjoong’s torment, and he cannot do that if he has to be by Hongjoong’s side while he’s out and about.

Eden doesn’t argue. He laments that this is the age they live in, that ignorance is not only so prevalent but so  _ loud _ and so dangerous. Seonghwa can’t help but share the sentiment. They discuss the social media storm surrounding the announcement of the new idol group, and even Eden questions the timing given all that’s happened. He does have to admit, though, that it is time for KQ Entertainment to have some pleasant headlines to their name. Seonghwa can agree to that.

There’s a loud noise from his bedroom, suddenly; something like a distressed yelp. He hurriedly tells Eden he has to go and hangs up without further warning before heading back into the bedroom.

“Is everything all right? Hongjoong-ah?” Seonghwa asks as he comes through the door. He can see nothing  _ looks _ amiss, but Hongjoong is sitting up on the bed, breathing heavily and looking distressed.

“Y-yeah, it’s nothing, sorry. Just another nightmare. Nothing to worry over.” He mumbles, brushing his fringe away from his face.

“That’s plenty to worry over.” Seonghwa murmurs, sliding back into bed with him and pulling the other against his side. He rubs at his shoulders soothingly, pressing a gentle kiss to the curve of his neck. “Do you want to—”

“Hyung, I’m… scared.” Hongjoong says, his voice raw and strained.

Part of Seonghwa is glad he finally wants to talk about it. The other part of him aches knowing that everything that’s happened is finally breaking him down enough that he feels as though he must.

“I haven’t been scared, before… of these hateful people. Not really. I was so convinced this was all just bluster and fanfare. I didn’t think for one second someone would actually try to, but—” He lets out a mirthless laugh. “The acid, coming to my studio, to my  _ home _ ? There’s someone out there  _ paying _ people to… I didn’t think anything like that could ever really happen.”

“That was your first mistake.” Seonghwa murmurs, looking away. “I know that it seems… cruel, but I always expect the worst from people. That’s how I keep you safe.”

“You once said… I’m allowed to live my life. But, I just don’t feel like I am.” Hongjoong rasps. “How can I, when—”

“I know.” Seonghwa soothes, petting gently through the other’s hair. “I’m going to find out who keeps leaking your personal information and I’m going to stop them. I just need you to trust me.”

“I  _ do  _ trust you, Seonghwa.” Hongjoong bites back, and it’s so raw that Seonghwa can’t even be upset at his informality. “You’re the only person I  _ can _ trust. Someone who has my personal information, someone who’s gotta be pretty close to me, is using it to fuck with me. To give people the chance to harm me. I don’t… I don’t know what I can even  _ do _ at this point, I just—”

“I know, I know. Listen…” Seonghwa hushes, cupping Hongjoong’s face and gently tipping his head up until their eyes meet. “I told Eden-ssi you’re taking the week off. Give me a few days. Stay here, in my apartment. Don’t tell  _ anyone _ . By the end of the week, I’ll rat out this mole.”

Hongjoong stares at him for a long moment, as if he wants to offer protest. He seems to give up, though, letting out a shaky sigh.

“And what happens… after. Once you find out who’s doing all this?”

Seonghwa furrows his brow, not understanding the question. “Then you’ll be safer.”

“Yeah but… what then? What will you do?”

Seonghwa realizes, then, exactly what Hongjoong means. He realizes he’s been a goddamn fool, too.

“There will always be people who want to hurt you, or who are such fanatics that they think that rules don’t apply to them and they can throw themselves at you without a second thought. You’ll always need a bodyguard.”

“So you won’t just… leave.” Hongjoong murmurs, and it isn’t exactly a question.

Seonghwa answers it anyway. “Of course not.”

“You’ll stay with me?” Hongjoong asks, his voice so small.

“Always.” Seonghwa assures.

“You’ll keep me safe?”

It aches in Seonghwa’s chest how hollow those words sound. He nods. “Until my last breath.”

Hongjoong snorts. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I have a feeling this is one of those rare occasions when you like it.”

“Mm, not as rare as you might think.” Hongjoong quips cheekily, climbing into Seonghwa’s lap. He moves in close until their noses brush, until their lips are only a breath apart. “Seonghwa-hyung?”

“Yes, Hongjoong-ah?”

“Will you make love to me?” Hongjoong asks softly, his fingers playing along Seonghwa’s chest.

“Anytime you wish.”

“Right now would be nice.” Hongjoong whispers, licking his lips as his eyes drift down to Seonghwa’s own.

“Anything for you, my love.” Seonghwa says, pulling Hongjoong closer until they are kissing.

Hongjoong makes a sweet little contented noise into his mouth, throwing his arms around Seonghwa’s neck, and Seonghwa’s heart feels like it is floating.

They kiss feverishly for a long while, hastily stripping each other of their sleep clothes. Hongjoong doesn’t leave Seonghwa’s lap, not for a single second—Seonghwa doesn’t exactly  _ let _ him, just lifting his hips up enough to rid them of their pants, and later, enough to press his lube-slicked fingers inside him. When he is ready, he guides Hongjoong down onto his cock, kisses the sweet, pleasured sigh from his mouth, leans back against the headboard and holds his thighs so he has the leverage to grind up into him, languid and gentle.

Hongjoong starts on his knees… but after too long, he ends up with his legs wrapped around Seonghwa’s waist, relinquishing all of his control to his lover. His tiny fingers curl against Seonghwa’s neck, their eyes locked as if by magnetism. It is very much the same as that day in the studio, except it is not. That day, Hongjoong’s eyes were intense and smoldering, catlike… but now, they are open and earnest and sparkling. Seonghwa wants to revel in that gaze forever.

Hongjoong’s head falls back on a gasp and Seonghwa leans in, running his tongue up the long line of his throat, suckling softly under his jaw. Hongjoong chokes on a moan, begs—for exactly what is anyone’s guess, the words a jumbled mess of broken syllables and pleasured groans. Seonghwa just gives him everything he can think to give; he fucks him harder, holds him tighter, worries his teeth against the hollow of his throat until Hongjoong is shuddering and coming in his arms untouched.

Seonghwa coos a litany of praises, keeps his hips rolling steadily until Hongjoong is spent, then pivots to deposit him onto the bed, pulling out and stripping off the condom to jerk himself off across his abdomen. Hongjoong watches him with hazy eyes, the morning light falling across his face a little differently than it does in his own bedroom.

It is— _ he  _ is—just as beautiful.

***

It takes Seonghwa three days to complete his investigation and prepare everything. Scouring through hours of footage from the studio building, which had been a venture to even obtain, eats away most of it. He prints out several copies of everything, organizes them neatly into manila folders, and calls Eden to set up a meeting with the CEO of KQ Entertainment.

Eden makes it happen, figuring if he’s got to expose whoever is doing all this to Hongjoong, it makes sense to go right to the top, to report it directly to someone who has the power to do something about it. Eden himself doesn’t have much power outside of Hongjoong’s management. It’s not as though he can fire anyone.

The next morning, Seonghwa heads for the KQ Entertainment building with that little manila folder tucked up under his arm, holding the same weight to him as an atomic bomb.

After the admin assistant tells him he can go in, opening the door for him, he steps into the CEO’s office. He doesn’t bow.

“Park Seonghwa! I was surprised when Eden-ssi told me you’d requested a meeting. Must be important, so I made the time.”

“I’m sure you have a busy schedule.” Seonghwa replies flatly.

“Naturally.” The man laughs, motioning to the chair in front of his desk. Seonghwa doesn’t sit. The older man clears his throat. “So, then, what can I do for Hongjoong’s bodyguard?”

“You can have a look at this.” Seonghwa says, handing him the folder. He flips through it almost absently at first, until something catches his eye. He looks closer at the documents, swallowing. “The evidence I’ve collected in my time working as Hongjoong-ssi’s protection. There have been a few unrelated incidents, but by and large, the vast majority of the most pervasive threats can be traced back to a KQ Entertainment employee.”

The CEO scratches at his chin. A gaudy gold ring glitters on one finger as it catches the light.

“You.” Seonghwa finishes.

The older man clears his throat again. “Are you the only person who has this?”

“Do you take me for a fool?” Seonghwa bites incredulously.

The CEO rolls his eyes, shoving the folder back at him. “If you are coming to me and not the police or the press, I must assume you want something.”

“Yes. Answers.” Seonghwa hisses. “Why? Why do all this?”

“What was I supposed to do? That ungrateful—he knew damn well what he was doing. The position he put me in.” The man snarls, hands balling into fists.

“What was done was done. Why retaliate?” Seonghwa asks.

“And let him think it was all right? That it wasn’t a catastrophe?” The CEO balks. “After what he did, I lost a quarter of our investors. And if I released his contract? We’d have lost the public, the fans.”

“What was the aim, here? What did you gain by terrorizing him? Certainly headlines which made it clear to any other idol who might consider coming out that the industry—the  _ country _ —isn’t ready for it. But what did  _ you  _ gain?”

“A little bit of revenge, I suppose.” He gives a long-suffering sigh, leaning back in his chair and shrugging. “The only punishment I could levy.”

“No… it was more than that.” Seonghwa insists, watching him carefully for a long moment. “You… wanted to be rid of him, but you couldn’t release his contract yourself. It had to be his decision, or else you would have lost a lot of the public. So you needed  _ him  _ to leave the industry.”

The man seems to concede to that, inclining his head. “One way or another.”

Realization dawns on Seonghwa and he is horrified. It takes every fiber of his self control not to break this man’s neck where he sits.

The CEO must see some emotion flit across his face, beneath his carefully-crafted mask of apathy. “Will you tell him?”

Seonghwa narrows his eyes. “What reason would I have not to?”

“Could break a boy like that.”

Seonghwa bristles. “He has been through plenty and remained strong in the face of it. Much of it at  _ your _ hand. Don’t presume to patronize him in my presence.”

“Still protecting him? He isn’t even  _ here _ . Is it money you want? I can offer you that. Enough to retire on, I imagine. Could make a few calls, get you in at another agency if you really wanted, though.”

“You believe that you… can  _ bribe _ me.” Seonghwa says, so incredulous that it’s almost a question. “I used to work for the  _ president _ . My silence cannot be  _ bought _ , most especially not by you.”

“Then why are we meeting like this?” The CEO asks in an almost bored tone.

Seonghwa throws the manila folder down hard on the table before he sits, his words venomous when he speaks.

“We’re negotiating.”

***

Later, Seonghwa sits across from Eden in the main conference room at KQ Entertainment headquarters, the contents of that manila folder spread out across the dark wood in front of him, and the other man only manages to blink at him in complete and utter confusion.

“Wait. Run that by me again?”

Seonghwa folds his hands patiently. “Your CEO has largely been the one terrorizing Hongjoong-ssi with these threats at his home and studio. The acid attack… he had nothing to do with, but he had a hand in creating the culture which ultimately led to it.”

“He… but  _ why _ ?”

“Why else? Payback for Hongjoong-ssi coming out publicly without the company’s say-so… leaving him between a rock and a hard place with the investors and the public. That and…” Seonghwa grimaces, fist clenching over his knee. “I believe he felt the only way out was to drive Hongjoong-ssi either into retirement or into ending his own life. In both scenarios, he profits from album sales in the meantime while he attempts to build up another moneymaker to take his place.”

“The new idol group.” Eden murmurs in realization.

“Aptly timed. Hongjoong-ssi would have been lucky to get just one more album out before being relegated to obscurity.”

Eden scoffs. “It seems preposterous. It really does. But… I don’t feel like you’re the kind of person who would just make something up like that. Plus…”

He looks down at the evidence spread out before him and shakes his head with a sigh.

“So, what happens now?”

“Now, I present all this to Hongjoong-ssi and ask him how he wants to proceed. It’s his choice, in the end.”

“It’ll kill him, to learn this. To learn it was someone so close to home. I don’t know how he’ll take it.”

“You don’t believe I should tell him.” It’s almost a question.

“Honestly, I think you should let our CEO quietly step down and pretend it’s just a decision of the board. The board member you recommended to replace him, Kim Gyuwook-ssi, I think he is a good man and is much more likely to support Hongjoong without bitterness.”

“I don’t know if I can lie to Hongjoong-ssi.” Seonghwa admits, frowning. It had been hard enough to omit that the kid from the other night had identified KQ’s CEO as the man who had paid him to throw the brick. He’d only managed to convince himself to do so because it was true; he couldn’t be certain yet. But now… 

Now he had evidence. A confession. Should he just… keep all that from Hongjoong? To spare his heart?

“Just think about it.” Eden says, giving him a meaningful look.

“Would you tell him?” Seonghwa asks, his voice soft.

“If I were in your position? I don’t think I could.” Eden admits. “He’s a good kid. Sensitive. He… I've known him a long time, you know? The first tracks of his I ever listened to, if I didn’t profess my immediate love of them, he was just  _ convinced _ they weren’t good enough. That they were garbage.”

Eden laughs, shaking his head. “And you know… at least two of those were chart-toppers, when he eventually released them.”

Seonghwa smiles, melancholy and fond. That sounds just like Hongjoong, to doubt his own genius.

“I just… I don’t envy you.” Eden frowns, shoving at the papers in front of him with no little amount of disdain.

Seonghwa doesn’t envy himself, either. For once, he doesn’t know what to do.

***

When Seonghwa returns home, Hongjoong is waiting for him, just like the days before. Whereas he’s previously been firmly focused upon his laptop, usually huddled up on the couch, now he flits about in the kitchen wearing Seonghwa’s apron. He looks a little panicked when he comes in, fussing with something on the stove and staring like a deer caught in a pair of headlights.

“Seonghwa-hyung! You’re home so early! I thought you’d be… out longer.”

“I handled everything a bit sooner than I’d anticipated.” He toes off his shoes and slides into his house slippers before walking into the kitchen. He turns down one of the burners when he sees it start to bubble dangerously, then leans in and kisses Hongjoong, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him close.

He’s not sure why he does it. Up until now, they have only kissed when Hongjoong is seeking comfort. Perhaps Seonghwa is the one seeking it, now. He kisses Hongjoong slow and sweet and he feels Hongjoong melt in his embrace, one hand coming up to rest on his chest while the other holds fast to the wooden spoon he’s got in his grip.

He knows exactly why he does it, though. When he pulls back and Hongjoong looks up at him with hooded eyes, letting out a trembling breath, he knows. He seems to be searching his face for something, but Seonghwa breaks the moment, glancing back over to the stove.

“What’s all this?”

Hongjoong stammers as he backs away a little. “I, uh. Well, you always get onto me for eating nothing but instant ramyun when I don’t leave the house so I thought I’d cook. For both of us.”

Seonghwa smiles fondly, then, kissing his forehead before taking the spoon from Hongjoong and turning to the stove.

“All right. I’ll help you, then. And we can talk after lunch.”

“Talk?” Hongjoong seems concerned for a moment, until he senses that Seonghwa is too calm for it to be anything awful. “Oh, the investigation?”

“After food, my love.” Seonghwa insists, kissing his cheek on his way to grab the rice cooker.

And so they cook, and they eat, and Hongjoong seems a little uneasy at first, but eventually he allows his tension bleed away and just enjoys their peaceful afternoon together. They wash the dishes together, too, and after the last one is dry, Hongjoong gives him a meaningful look.

Seonghwa presses his lips together and lets out a long breath through his nose. He doesn’t want to break this, this sweet contentment… but he has to.

“So, um. Your investigation. Did you… find anything?”

“I did find something, yes. I think, going forward, things won’t be as bad as they were.” Seonghwa says, trying to be vague. He wonders how little Hongjoong will accept to just… let it go. But that isn’t really fair on him, either.

Hongjoong gives him a dubious expression. “That’s it?”

“Sometimes it’s not like the movies.” Seonghwa tells him. “There’s not always a dramatic build-up or some nefarious plot and a bad guy cackling in his basement who I can take down. Sometimes it’s just a bunch of random happenstance and a few disturbed pranksters, some of which we never manage to find. Sometimes I just do my job and you do your job and we just… live our lives.”

“You sound like you’re telling me I watch too many Kdramas and Hollywood action films.” Hongjoong mumbles, pouting.

Seonghwa chuckles. “Maybe. Life isn’t always like that. Even when you live a life as glamorous as yours.”

“Still, I just. There’s gotta be more, right?” Hongjoong presses.

Seonghwa sighs. “What if there was? Would you want to know? Even if the answer was terrible? The worst thing you could imagine?”

Hongjoong swallows. “Seonghwa-hyung?”

“Perhaps I should know you well enough by now, but… I sometimes still struggle with things like this.” Seonghwa continues. “Mostly because others also believe they know what is best for you, and I wouldn’t want to disrespect their opinions, as your tenured colleagues and friends…”

“I’d want to know.” Hongjoong tells him, voice so so quiet. “But you already know that, I think.”

Seonghwa smiles softly, a melancholy thing, and nods. “Yes. I just worry what would come after. Confusion, betrayal, maybe even self-doubt, guilt…”

Hongjoong looks sure, now. “Seonghwa-hyung, if you knew something, I’d want you to tell me. If you  _ know _ —”

“I know.” Seonghwa interrupts, and it is an answer in two forms. “I know, and I will. But before I do, I want you to know that I’ve already made the necessary arrangements. Everything is handled. And… I think you should sit.”

Hongjoong takes a deep breath, lets it out. He looks as though his heart has swooped into his stomach, like he’s certain it’s about to be ripped straight out of his chest. He removes his borrowed apron, then sets it on the counter. He heads into the living room, to the little white leather chair that’s placed caddy-corner to the couch. He sits.

Seonghwa joins him in the living room, sitting on the side of the couch nearest him once he retrieves the manila folder from his bookshelf. He swallows, but he is calm. His air is gentle, wanting to handle the information—handle  _ Hongjoong _ —with the utmost care. He takes a steadying breath. 

“It was your CEO.” Seonghwa says, and the suddenness, the bluntness of it, clearly takes Hongjoong off-guard, steals all the air from his lungs in a rush.

“W-what?”

“I’ve compiled all the evidence to forward to the correct authorities and media outlets if necessary. He also admitted it to me when I confronted him, and revealed his motive.” Seonghwa explains, handing over that manila folder.

“It was because I came out, isn’t it? Without running it by the company, without his approval. He couldn’t just kill my contract because he has no fallback right now, and the fanbase was still strong afterward, but he lost a lot of investors.” Hongjoong surmises, flipping through the folder. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure that out. “It was… what? Just small bit of revenge? To make me feel guilty? To make me think twice about dating publically?”

Seonghwa nods. “The only fitting punishment he could come up with. He hoped it would make you feel… forced, to leave the company. The industry.”

“Came close a couple times.” Hongjoong mumbles, and it is a confession, in some ways. “There were definitely days when I just… wanted it all to stop. When I felt like there wasn’t a point, because it feels like I can’t promote. I was almost convinced my dream wasn’t worth it anymore.”

“He underestimated your strength.” Seonghwa says softly.

“You helped.” Hongjoong tells him, smiling and leaning over to place a hand on his knee. “You help.”

Seonghwa covers Hongjoong’s hand with his own, squeezing gently.

“I hope I can help more with what comes next.”

Hongjoong lets out a sigh, edged with dread. “Go on.”

“We can go about this a few ways.” Seonghwa begins. “He’s agreed to step down as CEO in exchange for keeping this whole thing quiet and out of the courts.”

Hongjoong blinks, shock evident on his face. “You… you’re blackmailing him.”

“It’s… more like incentive.” Seonghwa corrects, but it’s honestly semantics. “In that case, I’ve secured you twenty percent ownership in KQ Entertainment under the CEO replacing him, and I’ve been assured that CEO does have your best interests in mind.”

Hongjoong starts at that. “O-ownership? Me? That’s…”

Unprecedented. For an idol just starting out like him, it’s unheard of, and a hell of a safety cushion. It’s also a message. Seonghwa knows damn well.

“I’d have secured you Korea herself were it within my power.” Seonghwa tells him, and his soft, earnest smile is every indication that he means it.

Hongjoong lets out a breath, overwhelmed. “So. Um, what? If I want him to be outed publically, we go through a whole messy lawsuit in the courts and I have to fight to even try to get any kind of justice served?”

“Sometimes the best victories are personal ones.” Seonghwa says, keeping his tone neutral. “But it is your choice. If you want the public to know, then I will send everything to the press. It’s your call.”

Hongjoong sighs, long and low and a little defeated. “I’d rather… keep this quiet. As much as I want people to know he was a vile jerk, I’d rather not have all that bad publicity on my name, too, you know?”

Seonghwa nods, motioning toward the folder with a meaningful glance. “You can always save it for a rainy day, too. Just in case.”

Hongjoong raises his eyebrows at him, scandalized. “Blackmailed  _ and  _ backstabbed? You really aren’t the straightlaced military man I thought you were. You’re ruthless.”

“Only when it comes to you, my love.” Seonghwa says, and it is an admission he doesn’t mind making. “He was also hoarding these.”

He steps out into the hall for a moment, producing a box from beyond the door. There are hundreds of letters, and some small padded envelopes. Several of them are decorated with artistic renderings of hearts, rainbows, glitter.

“Love letters. Fanmail. Support messages. Far more than he was actually giving you. They outnumber the hateful ones you received tenfold.” Seonghwa says, setting it on the coffee table. “There’s more. Piles of boxes. Whenever you’re ready for it.”

Tears spring to Hongjoong’s eyes. They are joyful ones, but there is regret there, too… for not knowing, perhaps even for doubting. Seonghwa wants to will them away more than anything. He moves to kneel in front of Hongjoong on the floor, cupping his cheeks gingerly and letting his thumbs brush away the tears when then begin to fall.

Hongjoong cries in his arms, but this time, at least, there is some measure of happiness at the root of it all.

***

It takes a few weeks for the transfers to occur, filled with a metric ton of paperwork and press conferences to boot. Seonghwa keeps Hongjoong from even having to make contact with his former CEO, which he is visibly thankful for. The replacement, he seems nice enough, and smiles genially when he shakes Hongjoong’s hand, claiming he is excited to work with him in the future.

Seonghwa has been doing a lot of work behind the scenes as well. The day after the official power shift, once he’s met with the new CEO and Eden to go over the details, he meets with Hongjoong to bring him up to speed.

“Who are all these guys?” Hongjoong asks as he flips through the files Seonghwa has given him; mostly profiles of older men dressed in sharp suits in their resume photos.

“All the new bodyguards and security personnel that KQ Entertainment will have on staff moving forward.” Seonghwa explains. “I thought you might want first pick.”

Hongjoong looks up, and there’s something about the look in his eyes that’s just a little heartbroken. “First pick—? But… you said you wouldn’t leave…”

“I’m not leaving.” Seonghwa assures, horrified that he somehow implied such.

“Then why…?”

Seonghwa frowns. “I’m sorry, was that presumptuous of me?”

“I guess it depends what you were presuming.”

Hongjoong has put him in on the spot. He wonders if he does it on purpose, because he likes watching him squirm. He most likely did something to deserve this. Probably.

“I presumed that it was best to handle the logistics now in case you wished to continue this… relationship, between us.” Seonghwa tries not to sound too cold when he says it. Whatever Hongjoong’s decision is, he’ll respect it… but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish, doesn’t  _ want _ . He also tries not to sound too hopeful when he says, “Especially in the case that you planned to go public about it.”

“Oh.” Hongjoong’s face visibly softens. “Do you… think we can? It’s not too soon?”

“That’s entirely your decision. You’re the one with the public image.” Seonghwa reminds him.

“You’ll have one too, if I do.” Hongjoong counters. “It’s your decision as much as it’s mine.”

Seonghwa shrugs amicably. “I’m comfortable with whatever you decide. I’ll stand by you, no matter what.”

Hongjoong snatches up his hand into his own, tangling their fingers. 

“I don’t know, it’s just. A lot, right now. I might need some time to… you know. Process. Let stuff settle.”

Seonghwa nods.

“When the time is right for you, you’ll know, my love.” He tells him. “Just trust me.”

From the way Hongjoong smiles up at him, Seonghwa knows that he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this fic the CEO is a nameless, faceless person. I didn’t really feel like vilifying an actual human who seems pretty nice in real life. I had his replacement named after the real-life founder/CEO.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter and CC, @NecroticNymph


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